' 


"  And  ships  far-off  go  sailing  by 
In  some  white-winged  fleet.*'  —  Page  xi. 


Thou  wert  before  the  continents,  before 
The  hollow  heavens,  which  like  another  sea 
Encircles  them  and  thee ';   but  whence  tJiou  wert, 
And  when  thou  wast  created,  is  not  known. 
Antiquity  was  young  when  thou  wast  old. 
There  is  no  limit  to  thy  strength,  no  end 
To  thy  magnificence.     Thou  goest  forth 
On  thy  long  journeys  to  remotest  lands, 
And  contest  back  unwearied. 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD:   Hymn  to  the  Sea. 


EDITOR'S  PREFACE. 


] HE  compiler  of  these  Songs  and  Poems  of  the 
Sea  returns  thanks  to  those  kind  friends  whose 
contributions  and  encouragement  have  so 
greatly  aided  her  work.  She  trusts  that  none  will  miss 
their  favorite  poems  from  these  pages ;  but,  should  this 
happen,  she  hopes  to  have  made  amends  by  offering 
some  lyrics  which  now  appear  for  the  first  time,  and 
many  others  which  are  rarely  to  be  found. 

Many  of  the  full-page  illustrations,  and  all  of  the 
vignettes  which  are  placed  before  and  after  the  various 
divisions  of  the  book,  are  from  original  designs  by  Miss 
FLORENTINE  H.  HAYDEN,  to  whom  the  particular  grati- 
tude of  the  compiler  and  publishers  is  hereby  rendered. 

Thanks  are  due  to  Messrs.  D.  APPLETON  &  COMPANY, 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS,  HOUGH- 
TON,  MIFFLIN,  &  COMPANY,  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  COMPANY, 


vi  EDITORS    PREFACE. 

A.  WILLIAMS  &  COMPANY,  "OUR  CONTINENT,"  "THE  CEN- 
TURY COMPANY,"  and  others,  for  the  permission  to  use  in 
this  volume  copyrighted  poems  which  they  control. 

With  this  brief  preface  she  bids  "Bon  voyage.'"  to  all 
her  readers. 

A.  L.  W. 

BLOOMFIELD,  N.J.,  May,  1883. 


TABLE   OF  CONTENTS. 


PROEM  . 

PREFACE    . 

INTRODUCTORY  POEM 

SEA-BREEZES 

WAVES  OF  THE  DEEP 

SEA-SPRAY 

SURF- EDGES  . 

OCEAN-SOUNDINGS 

INDEX  OF  AUTHORS 

INDEX  OF  POEMS 


PAGE 

iii 
v 
ix 

i 

T33 
231 

305 
459 
595 
609 


INTRODUCTORY    POEM 


BY 


SAMUEL   W.  DUFFIELD. 


JETSAM. 


WHEN  days  are  bright,  and  hope  is  high, 
When  sun  and  wind  are  sweet, 
The  little  ripples  dart  and  fly, 

And  gladden  at  my  feet; 
And  ships  far  off  go  sailing  by 
In  some  white-winged  fleet. 

My  heart  is  light :   I  laugh  and  sing 

As  by  myself  I  go; 
My  thoughts,  like  gulls  on  lazy  wing, 

Move  purely  to  and  fro ; 
I  lack  not  then  for  any  thing 

Which  nature  can  bestow. 

But  if,  against  that  dimmest  verge 

Which  joins  the  sky  and  sea, 
Some  huge  dark  hand  begins  to  urge 

The  waters  wrathfully, 
They  sweep  in  swiftly-rising  surge 

Through  my  serenity. 

And  yet  to-morrow  to  the  sand 

The  little  bird  will  come, 
To-morrow  will  be  warm  and  bland 

O'er  wreaths  of  perished  foam, 
And  weed  and  shell  flung  up  to  land 

Will  meet  me  as  I  roam, 

xi 


xii  JETSAM. 

O  soul  of  mine !    thou  art  a  sea 
By  which  I  love  to  stray, 

A  broken-edged  eternity 
To  lift  me  when  I  play: 

Why  should  I  shun  the  agony 
"Which  gives  me  joy  to-day? 

0  soul  of  mine !   thou  hidest  well 
The  secrets  of  thy  breast ; 

1  only  know  by  weed  or  shell 

The  distant  and  the  best: 
I  bless  the  tide  whose  pulses  tell 
That  after  storm  is  rest. 

SAMUEL  WILLOUGHBY  DUFFIELD. 


EA-BREEZES. 


WINDS  come  whispering  lightly  from  the  west, 
Kissing,  not  ruffling,  the  blue  deep's  serene. 

BYRON:   Childe  Harold,  Canto  II.  St.  70. 


CHRYSAOR. 

TUST  above  yon  sandy  bar, 
J    As  the  day  grows  fainter  and  dimmer, 

Lonely  and  lovely  a  single  star 
Lights  the  air  with  a  dusky  glimmer. 

Into  the  ocean,  faint  and  far, 

Falls  the  trail  of  its  golden  splendor ; 

And  the  gleam  of  that  single  star 
Is  ever  refulgent,  soft,  and  tender. 

Chrysaor,  rising  out  of  the  sea, 

Showed  thus  glorious  and  thus  emulous, 

Leaving  the  arms  of  Callirrhoe, 

Forever  tender,  soft,  and  tremulous. 

Thus  o'er  the  ocean,  faint  and  far, 

Trailed  the  gleam  of  his  falchion  brightly : 

Is  it  a  god,  or  is  it  a  star, 

That,  entranced,  I  gaze  on  nightly? 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 
3 


COUNT  ARNALDOS. 


COUNT    ARNALDOS. 

WHO  had  ever  such  adventure, 
Holy  priest,  or  virgin  nun, 
As  befell  the  Count  Arnaldos 
At  the  rising  of  the  sun  ? 

On  his  wrist  the  hawk  was  hooded ; 

Forth  with  horn  and  hound  went  he, 
When  he  saw  a  stately  galley 

Sailing  on  the  silent  sea. 

Sail  of  satin,  masts  of  cedar, 
Burnished  poop  of  beaten  gold  : 

Many  a  morn  you'll  hood  your  falcon 
Ere  you  such  a  bark  behold. 

Sails  of  satin,  masts  of  cedar, 
Golden  poops,  may  come  again  ; 

But  mortal  ear  no  more  shall  listen 
To  yon  gray-haired  sailor's  strain. 

Heart  may  beat,  and  eye  may  glisten  ; 

Faith  is  strong,  and  hope  is  free ; 
But  mortal  ear  shall  no  more  listen 

To  the  song  that  rules  the  sea. 

When  the  gray-haired  sailor  chanted, 
Every  wind  was  hushed  to  sleep ; 

Like  a  virgin  bosom  panted     . 
All  the  wide,  reposing  deep. 

Bright  in  beauty  rose  the  star-fish 
From  her  green  cave  down  below  ; 


THE    WHITE  SQUALL. 

Right  above,  the  eagle  poised  him,  — 
Holy  music  charmed  them  so. 

"  Stately  galley  !  glorious  galley  ! 

God  hath  poured  his  grace  on  thee : 
Thou  alone  mayst  scorn  the  perils 

Of  the  dread,  devouring  sea. 

"  False  Almeria's  reefs  and  shallows, 

Black  Gibraltar's  giant  rocks, 
Sound  and  sand-bank,  gulf  and  whirlpool, 

All  —  my  glorious  galley  mocks." 

"For  the  sake  of  God,  our  maker," 
(Count  Arnaldos'  cry  was  strong,) 

"  Old  man,  let  me  be  partaker 
In  the  secret  of  thy  song  !  " 

"  Count  Arnaldos  !  Count  Arnaldos  ! 

Hearts  I  read,  and  thoughts  I  know : 
Wouldst  thou  learn  the  ocean  secret, 

In  our  galley  thou  must  go." 

LOCKHART'S  SPANISH  BALLADS. 


THE    WHITE    SQUALL. 

(IN   THE   MEDITERRANEAN.) 

ON  deck,  beneath  the  awning, 
I  dozing  lay,  and  yawning  : 
It  was  the  gray  of  dawning, 

Ere  yet  the  sun  arose  ; 
And  above  the  funnel's  roaring, 
And  the  fitful  wind's  deploring, 


THE    WHITE  SQUALL. 

I  heard  the  cabin  snoring 

With  universal  nose. 
I  could  hear  the  passengers  snorting ; 
I  envied  their  disporting ; 
Vainly  I  was  courting 

The  pleasure  of  a  doze. 

So  I  lay,  and  wondered  why  light 
Came  not,  and  watched  the  twilight, 
And  the  glimmer  of  the  skylight 

That  shot  across  the  deck, 
And  the  binnacle  pale  and  steady, 
And  the  dull  glimpse  of  the  dead-eye, 
And  the  sparks  in  fiery  eddy 

That  whirled  from  the  chimney-neck. 
In  our  jovial  floating  prison 
There  was  sleep  from  fore  to  mizzen ; 
And  never  a  star  had  risen 

The  hazy  sky  to  speck. 
Strange  company  we  harbored  : 
We'd  a  hundred  Jews  to  larboard, 
Unwashed,  uncombed,  unbarbered,  — 

Jews  black  and  brown  and  gray. 
To  starboard  Turks  and  Greeks  were  ; 
Whiskered  and  brown  their  cheeks  were; 
Enormous  wide  their  breeks  were  ; 

Their  pipes  did  puff  away. 
And  so  the  hours  kept  tolling ; 
And  through  the  ocean  rolling 
'•Vent  the  brave  "  Iberia  "  bowling, 

Before  the  break  of  day,  — 
When  a  squall,  upon  a  sudden, 
Came  o'er  the  waters  scudding ; 


THE    WHITE  SQUALL. 

And  the  clouds  began  to  gather, 
And  the  sea  was  lashed  to  lather, 
And  the  lowering  thunder  grumbled, 
And  the  lightning  jumped  and  tumbled, 
And  the  ship,  and  all  the  ocean, 
Woke  up  in  wild  commotion. 
Then  the  wind  set  up  a  howling, 
And  the  poodle-dog  a  yowling  ; 
And  the  cocks  began  a  crowing ; 
And  the  old  cow  raised  a  lowing 
As  she  heard  the  tempest  blowing ; 
And  fowls  and  geese  did  cackle ; 
And  the  cordage  and  the  tackle 
Began  to  shriek  and  crackle  ; 
And  the  spray  dashed  o'er  the  funnels, 
And  down  the  deck  in  runnels ; 
And  the  rushing  water  soaks  all, 
From  the  seaman  in  the  fo'ksal 
To  the  stokers,  whose  black  faces 
Peer  out  of  their  bed-places ; 
And  the  captain  he  was  bawling ; 
And  the  sailors  pulling,  hauling ; 
And  the  quarterdeck  tarpauling 
Was  shivered  in  the  squalling ; 
And  the  passengers  awaken, 
Most  pitifully  shaken ; 
And  the  steward  jumps  up,  and  hastens 
For  the  necessary  basins. 

And  when,  its  force  expended, 
The  harmless  storm  was  ended, 
And  as  the  sunrise  splendid 
Came  blushing  o'er  the  sea, 


JACK  HUMPHREY'S  OATH. 

I  thought,  as  day  was  breaking, 
My  little  girls  were  waking, 
And  smiling,  and  making 
A  prayer  at  home  for  me. 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY. 


JACK    HUMPHREY'S    OATH. 

FOLK    LORE. 

FROM  Wampoa  sailed  a  gallant  ship 
Out  o'er  the  China  Sea  : 
A  stout,  bold  man  commanded  her  — 

•  They  called  him  Jack  Humphrey. 
The  captain's  mate  a  sweetheart  had, 

And  home  he  longed  to  be, 
Which  made  him  whistle  for  a  wind, 
And  speak  the  master  free. 

"  Tis  long  ere  we  get  home,  I  trow, 

The  way  is  long  to  sail : 
T\vo  hundred  days  'twill  be,  or  more, 

Withouten  any  fail." 
Up  spake  Jack  Humphrey  with  an  oath, 

••  Now,  messmates,  mark  me  well: 
In  heaven  above,  or  sea  beneath, 

Nought  can  a  strong  man  quell. 

"  A  strong  man's  love,  a  strong  man's  will, 

May  Heaven  itself  defy  : 
Oh  !  I'll  be  back  in  half  that  time, 

As  my  name's  Jack  Humphrey. 
A  hundred  days,  my  hearty  tars, 

And  we'll  in  Portland  be, — 


JACK  HUMPHREYS  OATH.  9 

You  with  your  sweethearts,  I  with  Jane  : 
So  crowd  the  canvas  free." 

Oh  !  Portland  is  a  seagirt  town, 

With  hills  of  slippery  clay, 
Whose  tender  matrons  steadfast  are 

To  mariners  away  — 
Good  Portland,  in  the  State  of  Maine, 

A  cold  and  bleak  countrie  : 
Thy  mother  knits  the  mittens  warm 

For  thy  next  voyage,  Humphrey. 

Thy  mother  lays  the  Bible  down, 

And  sips  the  good  green  tea ; 
For  she  bethinks  her  of  the  son 

That  brought  it  o'er  the  sea. 
Fair  Jeannie  climbs  up  old  Whitehead,1 

That  looms  from  out  the  sea ; 
And  every  ship  that  passes  by 

She  takes  for  Jack  Humphrey. 

She  puts  the  pearl-shell  to  her  ear, 

And  listens  to  the  sound ; 
For  well  she  knows,  if  it  is  mute, 

The  giver  must  be  drowned. 
The  good  ship  reels  with  press  of  sail : 

Her  topsails  rake  the  blast ; 
Good-lack, 'Jack  Humphrey  !  but  the  ship 

Is  going  wondrous  fast. 

By  Madagascar's  savage  strand, 

With  winds  that  westering  blew, 
And  westward  sets  the  shipwrecked  spar 

And  weed  they  drifted  through ; 

1  Whitehead  is  a  rocky  headland,  so  called,  at  the  entrance  to  the  harbor  of 
Portland- 


I  o  JA  CK  HUMPHRE  Y  '5   OA  TH. 

Adown  the  Indian  Ocean  now ; 

By  Cape  Agulhas  by  — 
"  A  steady  hand,  my  helmsman,  bear : 

The  wind  is  wondrous  high. 

"  Around  the  Cape  now  bear  her  up ; 

Look  to  the  table-land  ! 
A  ghostly  shroud  is  flapping  there, 

Waved  by  no  mortal  hand." 
Westward,  westward,  steering  on, 

Nor  never  furled  a  sail ; 
The  masts  and  spars  loud  shrieked,  and  bowed 

Before  the  heavy  gale. 

The  great  white  auk,  from  out  the  north 

Far  driven  by  the  wind, 
Hails  with  a  scream  the  gallant  ship, 

And  surgeth  on  behind. 
The  cold,  pale  moon,  with  white  wan  face, 

Looked  through  the  mackerel-sky, 
And  looked  upon  the  great  white  auk 

That  flappeth  heavily. 

The  cold  moon  from  the  mackerel-sky 

Looked  on  the  laboring  ship, 
Where  stood  Jack  Humphrey  by  the  mast, 

With  proud  and  curling  lip.  • 
Like  wool  the  flecking  foam  is  cast ; 

The  murky  night  is  cold  : 
"  O  captain  !  douse  the  stud'n'-sails; 

I  trow  you  are  too  bold." 

"  Now,  hold  thy  speech,  thou  mariner : 
The  mast  may  shake  and  bow, 


JACK  HUMPHREY'S   OATH.  n 

And  every  sail  be  split  in  twain ; 

But  we  will  go  as  now." 
"A  ship  !  a  ship  !  Jack  Humphrey,  mark  ! 

Close  reefed  is  her  topsail, 
And  all  her  canvas  carried  home, 

That  she  may  bide  the  gale." 

"A  sail !  "  the  captain  jeering  cried  ; 

"  She  scuds  under  bare  poles, 
And  every  face  is  white  as  death : 

God  save  their  craven  souls  !  " 
"Amen  !  amen  !  "  the  sailors  cried  : 

"  We  wish  them  nothing  less  ; 
For  our  good  ship  will  soon  go  down : 

Pray  God  our  souls  to  bless." 

"  Ahoy  !  ahoy  !  thou  bold  captain  : 

How  is't  ye  bear  such  sail? 
Ahoy  !  ahoy  !  where  are  ye  bound, 

An  ye  ride  out  the  gale?  " 
Jack  Humphrey  leaped  the  quarterdeck, 

And  loud  his  two  feet  rang : 
He  swore  an  oath,  and  loud  he  laughed, 

Athrough  the  trumpet  clang. 

Jack  Humphrey  leaped  the  weather-rail ; 

Fierce  did  his  trumpet  yell  : 
"  I'm  bound  for  home  in  sixty  days  — 

Or  else  I  go  to  h— 1 !  " 
"  Now  God  forefend,  thou  wicked  man  ! 

Thy  speech  is  over  bold  : 
I  would  not  be  in  thy  good  ship, 

An  she  were  made  of  gold." 


12  JACK  HUMPH  RE  Y  'S  OA  TH. 

Jack  Humphrey  strode  the  quarterdeck, 

In  scorn  loud  laughed  he  : 
••  Now  bear  away,  my  helmsman,  bear; 

The  wind  pipes  merrily." 
The  helmsman  braced  his  two  feet  wide, 

The  prow  so  ploughed  the  sea ; 
And  every  man  sank  to  his  knees : 

Oh  !  kneel  thee,  Jack  Humphrey. 

Adown,  adown  !  the  sea  sucks  in,  — 

The  hull,  the  mast,  the  spar,  — 
Above  spreads  out  a  mackerel-sky, 

And  shows  a  single  star. 
Below,  the  surging  billows  roar ; 

Sea-monsters  rise  and  fall ; 
And  winds  from  out  the  gathering  wrack 

Unto  each  other  call. 

The  great  white  auk  above  the  place 

Wheels  wildly  to  and  fro ; 
The  beacon  she  has  followed  long  — 

The  sail,  as  white  as  snow  — 
Has  vanished  from  the  boundless  space, 

And  she  is  left  to  be 
A  trackless  wanderer  alone 

Upon  the  pathless  sea. 

Long  shall  the  seaman  hear  her  cry 

Above  the  raging  blast, 
And  shudder  when  her  feet  alight 

Upon  the  reeling  mast ; 
Long  shall  the  mother  watch  and  wait ; 

Long  shall  the  maiden  weep ; 


THE    WATER    WRAITH. 

Long  shall  the  merchant  count  the  gains 
His  Indian  ship  shall  heap. 

But  stout  Jack  Humphrey  nevermore 

The  storm  with  pride  will  breast : 
The  daring  heart  and  reckless  tongue 

Are  each  alike  at  rest. 
Long  shall  sweet  Jeannie,  weeping,  watch, 

And  hope,  for  many  a  year, 
To  see  round  Whitehead's  stormy  peak 

Her  lover's  ship  appear. 

ELIZABETH  OAKES  SMITH. 

THE    WATER    WRAITH.1 

THE  sea  is  moaning,  the  new-born  cries ; 
In  her  child -bed  sorrow  the  mother  lies, 
And  the  fisher  fisheth  far  away, 
In  the  morning  gray. 

The  lift  is  laden,  the  dawn  appears : 
Is  it  the  moan  o'  the  wind  he  hears? 
Is  it  the  splash  o'  the  ocean  foam  ?  — 
Or  a  cry  from  home  ? 

The  wind  is  whistling  in  shroud  and  street  — 
He  fisheth  there  that  the  babe  may  eat  ; 
He  gazeth  down  from  the  side  of  his  bark 
On  the  waters  dark. 

Sees  he  the  gleam  o'  the  foam-flake  there, 
Or  a  white,  white  face  in  its  floating  hair? 
Salt  seaweeds  that  are  shoreward  drifted, 
Or  arms  uplifted  ? 

1  Wraith,  the  apparition  of  one  on  the  point  of  death. 


I4  UNLOVED  AND  ALONE. 

His  heart  is   heavy,  his  lips  are  set ; 
He  sighs  as  he  draggeth  in  his  net : 
The  dawning  brightens,  the  water  screams, 
And  the  white  face  gleams. 

Tis  chill,  so  chill,  as  he  shoreward  flies : 
The  boat  is  laden,  the  new-born  cries ; 
But  the  wraith  of  the  mother  fades  far  away 
In  the  morning  gray. 

ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 


UNLOVED    AND    ALONE. 

THE  sea-dove  some  twin-shadow  has; 
The  lark  has  lovers  in  seas  of  grass ; 
The  wild  beast  trumpets  back  his  vow ; 
The  squirrel  laughs  along  his  bough : 
But  I,  I  am  as  alone,  alas  ! 
As  yon  white  moon  when  white  clouds  pass, 
As  lonely  and  unloved,  alas  ! 
As  clouds  that  weep  and  drop  and  pass. 

O  maiden  !  singing  silver  sweet 
At  cabin-door,  in  field  of  corn, 
Where  woodbines  twine  for  thy  retreat, 
Sing  sweet  through  all  thy  summer  morn, 
For  love  is  landing  at  thy  feet, 
In  that  fair  isle  in  seas  of  corn ; 
But  I,  I  am  unloved  and  lorn 
As  winter  winds  of  winter  morn. 

The  ships,  black-bellied,  climb  the  sea; 
The  seamen  seek  their  loves  on  land ; 
And  love  and  lover,  hand  in  hand, 
Go  singing,  glad  as  glad  can  be  : 


THE  SAILOR.  15 

But  nevermore  shall  love  seek  me  — 

By  blowy  sea  or  broken  land, 
By  broken  wild  or  willow-tree, 
Nay,  nevermore  shall  love  seek  me. 

,0,  JOAQUIN  MILLER. 

THE    SAILOR. 

(A    ROMAIC    BALLAD.) 

THOU  that  hast  a  daughter 
For  one  to  woo  and  wed, 
Give  her  to  a  husband 

With  snow  upon  his  head. 
Oh  !  give  her  to  an  old  man, 

Though  little  joy  it  be, 

Before  the  best  young  sailor 

That  sails  upon  the  sea. 

How  luckless  is  the  sailor 

When  sick  and  like  to  die  ! 
He  sees  no  tender  mother, 

No  sweetheart  standing  by. 
Only  the  captain  speaks  to  him  : 

"  Stand  up,  stand  up,  young  man  ! 
And  steer  the  ship  to  haven, 

As  none  beside  thee  can." 

"  Thou  say'st  to  me,  '  Stand  up,  stand  up  ! ' 

I  say  to  thee,  '  Take  hold  ! ' 
Lift  me  a  little  from  the  deck  : 

My  hands  and  feet  are  cold. 
And  let  my  head,  I  pray  thee, 

With  handkerchiefs  be  bound  : 
There  !  take  my  love's  gold  handkerchief, 

And  tie  it  tightly  round. 


16  HOW'S  MY  BOY? 

"  Now  bring  the  chart,  the  doleful  chart : 

See  where  these  mountains  meet ! 
The  clouds  are  thick  around  their  head, 

The  mists  around  their  feet. 
Cast  anchor  here  :   'tis  deep  and  safe 

Within  the  rocky  cleft,  — 
The  little  anchor  on  the  right, 

The  great  one  on  the  left. 

"  And  now  to  thee,  O  captain  ! 

Most  earnestly  I  pray, 
That  they  may  never  bury  me 

In  church  or  cloister  gray, 
But  on  the  windy  sea-beach, 

At  the  ending  of  the  land, 
All  on  the  surfy  sea-beach, 

Deep  down  into  the  sand. 

"  For  there  will  come  the  sailors  : 

Their  voices  I  shall  hear, 
And  at  casting  of  the  anchor, 

The  yo-ho  loud  and  clear, 
And  at  hauling  of  the  anchor, 

The  yo-ho  and  the  cheer. — 
Farewell,  my  love  ;  for  to  thy  bay 

I  nevermore  may  steer  ! " 

WILLIAM   ALLINGHAM. 
HOW'S    MY    BOY? 

"  TT°» sailor  of  the  sea ! 

XI   How's  my  boy,  my  boy?" 
"  What's  your  boy's  name,  goodwife  ? 
And  in  what  ship  sailed  he  ?  " 


HOW'S  MY  BOY?  17 

"  My  boy  John  — 

He  that  went  to  sea : 
What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor? 

My  boy's  my  boy  to  me. 

"  You  come  back  from  sea," 

And  not  know  my  John? 
I  might  as  well  have  asked  some  landsman 

Yonder  down  in  the  town. 
There's  not  an  ass  in  all  the  parish 

But  he  knows  my  John. 

"  How's  my  boy,  my  boy  ? 

And  unless  you  let  me  know, 
I'll  swear  you  are  no  sailor, 

Blue  jacket  or  no, 
Brass  buttons  or  no,  sailor, 

Anchor  and  crown  or  no  ! 
Sure  his  ship  was  the  'Jolly  Briton '  "  — 

"  Speak  low,  woman,  speak  low  !  " 
"  And  why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor, 

About  my  own  boy  John  ? 
If  I  was  loud  as  I  am  proud, 

I'd  sing  him  over  the  town. 
Why  should  I  speak  low,  sailor?" 

"  That  good  ship  went  down." 

"  How's  my  boy,  my  boy  ? 

What  care  I  for  the  ship,  sailor? 

I  never  was  aboard  her. 
Be  she  afloat,  or  be  she  aground, 
Sinking  or  swimming,  I'll  be  bound 

Her  owners  can  afford  her  ! 
I  say,  How's  my  John?" 


l8          LEGEND   OF  THE   CORRIEVRECHAN. 

"  Every  man  on  board  went  do\rn, 
Every  man  aboard  her." 
"  How's  my  boy,  my  boy  ? 

What  care  I  for  the  men,  sailor? 

I'm  not  their  mother  — 
How's  my  boy,  my  boy  ? 

Tell  me  of  him,  and  no  other  ! 
How's  my  boy,  my  boy?" 

SIDNEY  DOBELL. 


LEGEND    OF    THE    CORRIEVRECHAN. 

T)RINCE  BREACAN  of  Denmark  was  lord  of 
±.  the  strand, 

And  lord  of  the  billowy  sea : 
Lord  of  the  sea,  and  lord  of  the  land, 

He  might  have  let  maidens  be. 

A  maiden  he  met  with  locks  of  gold, 

Astray  by  the  billowy  sea  : 
Maidens  listened  in  days  of  old, 

And  repented  grievously. 

Wiser  he  left  her  in  sorrows  and  wiles  : 

He  went  sailing  over  the  sea, 
And  came  to  the  Lord  of  the  Western  Isles : 

"  Now  give  me  thy  daughter,"  said  he. 

The  Lord  of  the  Isles  he  rose  and  said, 
"  If  thou  art  not  a  king  of  the  sea, 

Think  not  the  Maid  of  the  Islands  to  wed, 
She  is  too  good  for  thee. 


LEGEND   OF  THE   CORRIEVRECHAN.  19 

"  Hold  thine  own  three  nights  and  days 

In  this  whirlpool  of  the  sea, 
Or  turn  thy  prow,  and  go  thy  ways, 

And  let  the  sea-maiden  be." 

Prince  Breacan  he  turned  his  sea-dog  prow 

To  Denmark  over  the  sea  : 
"  Wise  women,"  he  said,  "  now  tell  me  how 

In  yon  whirlpool  to  anchor  me." 

"  Make  a  cable  of  hemp,  and  a  cable  of  wool, 

And  a  cable  of  maidens'  hair, 
And  hie  thee  back  to  the  roaring  pool, 

And  anchor  in  safety  there. 

"  The  smiths,  for  love,  on  the  eve  of  Yule 

Will  forge  thee  three  anchors  rare ; 
Thou  shalt  gather  the  hemp,  and  shear  the  wool, 

And  the  maidens  will  bring  their  hair. 

"  Of  the  hair  that  is  brown  thou  shalt  twist  one 
strand ; 

Of  the  hair  that  is  raven,  another ; 
Of  the  golden  hair  thou  shalt  twine  a  band 

To  bind  the  one  to  the  other." 

He  gathered  the  hemp,  and  he  shore  the  wool ; 

And  the  maidens  brought  their  hair, 
To  hold  him  fast  in  the  roaring  pool 

By  three  anchors  of  iron  rare. 

He  twisted  the  brown  hair  for  one  strand, 

And  the  raven  hair  for  another ; 
He  twined  the  golden  hair  in  a  band 

To  bind  the  one  to  the  other. 


20          LEGEND   OF  THE   CORRIEVRECHAN. 

He  took  the  cables  of  hemp  and  wool, 

He  took  the  cable  of  hair, 
And  he  hied  him  back  to  the  roaring  pool, 

And  he  cast  the  three  anchors  there. 

The  whirlpool  roared,  and  the  day  went  by, 
And  night  came  down  on  the  sea ; 

But,  or  ever  the  morning  had  broke  the  sky, 
The  hemp  had  broken  in  three. 

The  night  it  came  down ;  the  whirlpool  it  ran ; 

The  wind  it  fiercely  blew  ; 
And,  or  ever  the  second  morning  began, 

The  wool  had  parted  in  two. 

The  storm  it  roared  all  day  the  third, 

And  the  whirlpool  reeled  about ; 
The  night  came  down  like  a  wild  black  bird : 

But  the  cable  of  hair  held  out. 

Round  and  around,  with  a  giddy  swing, 
^"ent  the  Sea- King  through  the  dark ; 

And  round  went  the  rope  in  the  swivel-ring ; 
And  round  went  the  straining  bark. 

Prince  Breacan  he  sat  by  the  good  boat's  prow, 

A  lantern  in  his  hand  ; 
Blest  be  the  maidens  of  Denmark  now  ! 

By  them  shall  Denmark  stand. 

He  watched  the  rope  through  the  tempest  black, 

A  lantern  in  his  hold  : 
Out,  out,  alack  !  one  strand  will  crack, 

And  it  is  of  shining  gold. 


WITH   THE    TIDE.  21 

The  third  morn,  clear  and  calm,  came  out ; 

Nor  lord  nor  ship  was  there  : 
For  the  golden  strand  in  the  cable  stout 

Was  not  all  of  maidens'  hair. 

GEORGE  MACDONALD. 


WITH    THE    TIDE. 

SWIFT  o'er  the  water  my  light  yacht  dances, 
Flying  fast  from  the  wind  of  the  south  ; 
Bright  from  her  bowsprit  the  white  foam  glances, 
And  straight  we  steer  for  the  harbor's  mouth. 

The  coast-line  dim  from  the  haze  emerges, 
With  tender  tints  of  the  spring-time  toned ; 

On  silver  beaches  roll  sparkling  surges ; 

And  woods  are  green  on  the  hills  enthroned. 

The  sentinel  lighthouses  watch  together 
As  the  stately  river  we  reach  at  last ; 

The  robins  sing  in  the  blithe  May  weather ; 
And  the  flood-tide  bears  us  onward  fast. 

From  bank  to  bank  flows  a  chorus  mellow 
Of  rippling  frogs  and  of  singing  birds ; 

The  fields  are  starry  with  flowers  of  yellow ; 
And  green  slopes  pasture  the  lowing  herds. 

A  lovely  perfume  blows  softly  over 
From  apple-blossoms  on  either  side, 

From  golden  willow  and  budding  clover, 
And  many  a  garden  of  lowly  pride. 


22  WITH   THE    TIDE. 

And  a  lazy  echo  of  glad  cocks  crowing 
From  dooryards  cosey  rings  far  and  near ; 

And  the  city's  murmur  is  slowly  growing 
From  out  the  distance  distinct  and  clear. 

Over  the  river  so  broadly  flowing, 

Cottages  look  from  the  sheltering  trees ; 
And  out  through  the  orchard,  with  blossoms  snowing, 
Comes  brown-haired  maiden  from  one  of  these. 

She  waves  her  hand  as  in  friendly  token, 
And  watches  my  swift  boat  sailing  on ; 

I  answer  her  signal  —  no  word  is  spoken  : 
Tis  but  a  moment,  and  she  is  gone. 

And  when,  from  the  far-off  town  returning, 

Dropping  down  with  the  ebbing  tide, 
Seaward  we  sail,  with  the  sunset  burning, 

O'er  wastes  of  the  ocean  lone  and  wide, 

Again  in  the  orchard,  her  white  hand  lifted 
Shows  like  a  waft  of  a  sea-bird's  wing ; 

While  the  rosy  blossoms  are  o'er  her  drifted, 
And  loud  with  rapture  the  robins  sing. 

I  know  her  not,  and  shall  know  her  never ; 

But  ever  I  watch  for  that  friendly  sign  ; 
And  up  or  down  with  the  stately  river 

Her  lovely  greeting  is  always  mine. 

And  her  presence  lends  to  the  scene  a  glory,  — 
More  beauty  to  blossom  and  stream  and  tree ; 

And  back  o'er  the  wastes  of  the  ocean  hoary 
Her  gentle  image  I  take  with  me. 

CELIA  THAXTER. 


THE  NEW  DAY.  23 

AT    THE    HARBOR-MOUTH. 

AT  the  harbor-mouth,  at  the  harbor-mouth, 
The  little  white  sails  I  see ; 
And  they  veer  to  the  north,  and  they  turn  to  the  south, 

And  they  glide  so  gracefully  : 
But  the  great  gray  ships  go  far  below 
The  rim  of  the  harbor  that  loves  them  so. 

In  the  happy  days,  in  the  happy  days, 

My  beautiful  dreams  go  by ; 
And  the  sun  is  so  bright,  as  he  gives  them  his  rays, 

That  I  bless  the  sea  and  sky : 
But  the  mightier  thoughts  are  far  below 
The  words  of  the  singer  who  loves  them  so. 

SAMUEL  WILLOUGHBY  DUFFIELD. 


THE    NEW    DAY. 
(PROLOGUE.) 

THE  night  was  dark,  though  sometimes  a  faint  star 
A  little  while  a  little  space  made  bright. 
Dark  was  the  night,  and  like  an  iron  bar 
Lay  heavy  on  the  land,  till  o'er  the  sea 
Slowly,  within  the  east,  there  grew  a  light 
Which  half  was  starlight,  and  half  seemed  to  be 
The  herald  of  a  greater.     The  pale  white 
Turned  slowly  to  pale  rose,  and  up  the  height 
Of  heaven  slowly  climbed.     The  gray  sea  grew 
Rose-colored  like  the  sky.     A  white  gull  flew 
Straight  toward  the  utmost  boundary  of  the  east, 
Where  slowly  the  rose  gathered  and  increased. 


24  TACKING  SHIP  OFF  SHORE. 

It  was  as  on  the  opening  of  a  door 

By  one  who  in  his  hand  a  lamp  doth  hold, 

(Its  flame  yet  hidden  by  the  garment's  fold,) 

The  still  air  moves,  the  wide  room  is  less  dim. 

More  bright  the  east  became ;  the  ocean  turned 

Dark  and  more  dark  against  the  brightening  sky ; 

Sharper  against  the  sky  the  long  sea-line ; 

The  hollows  of  the  breakers  on  the  shore 

Were  green  like  leaves  whereon  no  sun  doth  shine, 

Though  white  the  outer  branches  of  the  tree. 

From  rose  to  red  the  level  heaven  burned : 

Then  sudden,  as  if  a  sword  fell  from  on  high, 

A  blade  of  gold  flashed  on  the  ocean's  rim. 

RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER. 


TACKING    SHIP    OFF    SHORE. 

THE  weather  leach  of  the  topsail  shivers ; 
The  bowlines  strain,  and  the  lee-shrouds  slacken ; 
The  braces  are  taut,  and  the  lithe  boom  quivers ; 

And  the  waves  with  the  coming  squall-cloud  blacken. 

Open  one  point  on  the  weather-bow 

Is  the  lighthouse  tall  on  Fire-Island  Head  : 

There's  a  shade  of  doubt  on  the  captain's  brow, 
And  the  pilot  watches  the  heaving  lead. 

I  stand  at  the  wheel ;  and,  with  eager  eye, 

To  sea  and  to  sky  and  to  shore  I  gaze, 
Till  the  muttered  order  of  "  FULL  AND  BY  !  " 

Is  suddenly  changed  to  "  FULL  FOR  STAYS  !  " 

The  ship  bends  lower  before  the  breeze 
As  her  broadside  fair  to  the  blast  she  lays ; 


TACKING  SHIP  OFF  SHORE.  25 

And  she  swifter  springs  to  the  rising  seas 
As  the  pilot  calls,  "  STAND  BY  FOR  STAYS  ! " 

It  is  silence  all,  as  each  in  his  place, 

With  the  gathered  coils  in  his  hardened  hands, 

By  tack  and  bowline,  by  sheet  and  brace, 
Waiting  the  watchword  impatient  stands. 

And  the  light  on  Fire-Island  Head  draws  near, 

As,  trumpet-winged,  the  pilot's  shout 
From  his  post  on  the  bowsprit's  heel  I  hear, 

With  the  welcome  call  of  "  READY  !  ABOUT  !  " 

No  time  to  spare ;  it  is  touch  and  go  : 

And  the  captain  growls,  "  DOWN  HELM  !  HARD  DOWN  !  " 
As  my  weight  on  the  whirling  spokes  I  throw, 

While  heaven  grows  black  with  the  storm-cloud's 
frown. 

High  o'er  the  knight-heads  flies  the  spray 
As  we  meet  the  shock  of  the  plunging  sea ; 

And  my  shoulder  stiff  to  the  wheel  I  lay, 
As  I  answer,  "  AY,  AY,  SIR  !  HARD-A-LEE  !  " 

With  the  swerving  leap  of  a  startled  steed, 
The  ship  flies  fast  in  the  eye  of  the  wind  : 

The  dangerous  shoals  on  the  lee  recede, 

And  the  headland  white  we  have  left  behind. 

The  topsails  flutter ;  the  jibs  collapse, 

And  belly  and  tug  at  the  groaning  cleats ; 

The  spanker  slaps,  and  the  mainsail  flaps ; 

And  thunders  the  order,  "  TACKS  AND  SHEETS  !  " 


26  THE   DEMON  LOVER. 

Mid  the  rattle  of  blocks  and  the  tramp  of  the  crew, 

Hisses  the  rain  of  the  rushing  squall : 
The  sails  are  aback  from  clew  to  clew ; 

And  now  is  the  moment  for  "  MAINSAIL,  HAUL  ! " 

And  the  heavy  yards,  like  a  baby's  toy, 

By  fifty  strong  arms  are  swiftly  swung : 
She  holds  her  way,  and  I  look  with  joy 

For  the  first  white  spray  o'er  the  bulwarks  flung. 

"  LET  GO,  AND  HAUL  !  "     Tis  the  last  command, 
And  the  head-sails  fill  to  the  blast  once  more ; 

Astern  and  to  leeward  lies  the  land, 

With  its  breakers  white  on  the  shingly  shore. 

What  matters  the  reef,  or  the  rain,  or  the  squall  ? 

I  steady  the  helm  for  the  open  sea  ; 
The  first  mate  clamors,  "  BELAY  THERE,  ALL  !  " 

And  the  captain's  breath  once  more  comes  free. 

And  so  off  shore  let  the  good  ship  fly : 

Little  care  I  how  the  gusts  may  blow ; 
In  my  fo'castle-bunk,  in  a  jacket  dry  — 

Eight  bells  have  struck,  and  my  watch  is  below. 

WALTER  MITCHEL. 


THE    DEMON    LOVER. 

•  where  have  you  been,  my  long,  long  love, 
This  long  seven  years  and  mair?  " 
"  Oh  !  I'm  come  to  seek  my  former  vows 
Ye  granted  me  before." 


THE  DEMON  LOVER.  27 

"  Oh,  hold  your  tongue  of  your  former  vows  ! 

For  they  will  breed  sad  strife  : 
Oh,  hold  your  tongue  of  your  former  vows  ! 

For  I  am  become  a  wife." 

He  turned  him  right  and  round  about, 

And  the  tear  blinded  his  e'e  : 
"  I  wad  never  hae  trodden  on  Irish  ground, 

If  it  had  not  been  for  thee. 

"  I  might  have  had  a  king's  daughter, 

Far,  far  beyond  the  sea  : 
I  might  have  had  a  king's  daughter, 

Had  it  not  been  for  love  o'  thee." 

"  If  ye  might  have  had  a  king's  daughter, 

Yersell  ye  had  to  blame  : 
Ye  might  have  taken  the  king's  daughter, 

For  ye  kend  that  I  was  nane." 

"  Oh,  faulse  are  the  vows  o'  womankind  ! 

But  fair  is  their  false  bodie  : 
I  never  would  hae  trodden  on  Irish  ground, 

Had  it  not  been  for  love  o'  thee." 

"  If  I  was  to  leave  my  husband  dear, 

And  my  two  babes  also, 
Oh,  what  would  you  have  to  take  me  to, 

If  I  with  you  should  go  ?  " 

"  I  have  seven  ships  upon  the  sea ; 

The  eighth  brought  me  to  land, 
With  four  and  twenty  bold  mariners, 

And  music  on  every  hand." 


28  THE  DEMON  LOVER. 

She  has  taken  up  her  two  little  babes, 
Kissed  them  baith  cheek  and  chin : 

"  Oh,  fare  ye  we  el !  my  ain  two  babes, 
For  I'll  never  see  you  again." 

She  set  her  foot  upon  the  ship, 
No  mariners  could  she  behold ; 

But  the  sails  were  o'  the  taffetie, 
And  the  masts  o'  the  beaten  gold. 

She  had  not  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league  but  barely  three, 
When  dismal  grew  his  countenance, 

And  drumlie  grew  his  e'e. 

The  masts,  that  were  like  the  beaten  gold, 

Bent  not  on  the  heaving  seas ; 
And  the  sails,  that  were  o'  the  taffetie, 

Filled  not  in  the  eastland  breeze. 

They  had  not  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league  but  barely  three, 
Until  she  espied  his  cloven  foot, 

And  she  wept  right  bitterly. 

"  Oh  !  what  hills  are  yon,  yon  pleasant  hills, 
That  the  sun  shines  sweetly  on?" 

"  Oh,  yon  are  the  hills  of  heaven  !  "  he  said, 
"  Where  you  will  never  win." 

"  Oh  !  whaten  a  mountain  is  yon,"  she  said, 
"  All  so  dreary  wi'  frost  and  snow?  " 

"  Oh,  yon  is  the  mountain  of  hell !  "  he  cried, 
"Where  you  and  I  will  go." 


GOD  BLESS    THE  SHIPS.  29 

And  aye,  when  she  turned  her  round  about, 

Aye  taller  he  seemed  to  be, 
Until  that  the  masts  o'  the  gallant  ship 

Nae  taller  were  than  he. 

The  clouds  grew  dark,  and  the  wind  grew  loud ; 

And  the  levin  filled  her  e'e  ; 
And  waesome  wailed  the  snow-white  sprites 

Upon  the  gurlie  sea. 

He  struck  the  topmast  wi'  his  hand, 

The  foremast  wi'  his  knee ; 
And  he  brake  that  gallant  ship  in  twain, 

And  sank  her  in  the  sea. 

OLD  ENGLISH  BALLAD. 

GOD    BLESS    THE    SHIPS. 

THROUGH  the  crossed  bracken-boughs, 
Green,  brown,  and  golden  ; 
Between  the  frowning  brows 

Of  two  cliffs,  holden 
In  Nature's  picture-frame, 
Where  the  land  dips,  — 
Across  the  sunset  flame 
Sail  the  good  ships. 

Outward  or  homeward  bound, 

Free  or  deep  laded  ; 
Like  ghosts  without  a  sound 

When  the  west's  faded ; 
Cleaving  the  moonshine-track 

Where  the  white  strips 
Bar  the  dark  waters  back  — 

God  save  the  ships  ! 


30  THE  DIVER. 

Sad  eyes  are  straining 

To  catch  the  sail's  flutter ; 
Salt  tears  are  raining 

What  voice  dare  not  utter. 
Bound  far  to  distant  lands, 

As  the  rope  slips, 
Bent  heads  and  clasping  hands 

Pray  for  the  ships. 

Home  with  the  evening-tide, 

Colors  free  blowing, 
Quick  by  fond  eyes  descried, 

Coming  or  going : 
Still  as  they  cross  our  sight 

Wakes  to  our  lips 
One  prayer,  by  day  and  night,  — 

"  God  bless  the  ships  !  " 


ANONYMOUS. 


THE    DIVER. 

,  where  is  the  knight  or  the  squire  so  bold 
As  to  dive  to  the  howling  Charybdis  below? 
I  cast  into  the  whirlpool  a  goblet  of  gold, 

And  o'er  it  already  the  dark  waters  flow : 
Whoever  to  me  may  the  goblet  bring 
Shall  have  for  his  guerdon  that  gift  of  his  king." 

He  spoke ;  and  the  cup,  from  the  terrible  steep 
That  rugged  and  hoary  hung  over  the  verge 

Of  the  endless  and  measureless  world  of  the  deep, 
Swirled  into  the  maelstrom  that  maddened  the  surge. 

"  And  where  is  the  diver  so  stout  to  go, 

I  ask  ye  again,  to  the  deep  below  ?  " 


THE  DIVER.  31 

And  the  knights  and  the  squires  that  gathered  around 
Stood  silent,  and  fixed  on  the  ocean  their  eyes  : 

They  looked  on  the  dismal  and  savage  profound, 

And  the  peril  chilled  back  every  thought  of  the  prize. 

And  thrice  spoke  the  monarch  :  "  The  cup  to  win, 

Is  there  never  a  wight  who  will  venture  in?  " 

And  all  as  before  heard  in  silence  the  king, 

Till  a  youth,  with  an  aspect  unfearing,  but  gentle, 

Mid  the  tremulous  squires,  stept  out  from  the  ring, 
Unbuckling  his  girdle,  and  doffing  his  mantle ; 

And  the  murmuring  crowd,  as  they  parted  asunder, 

On  the  stately  boy  cast  their  looks  of  wonder. 

As  he  strode  to  the  marge  of  the  summit,  and  gave 
One  glance  on  the  gulf  of  that  merciless  main, 

Lo  !  the  wave  that  forever  devours  the  wave 
Casts  roaringly  up  the  Charybdis  again, 

And,  as  with  the  swell  of  the  far  thunder-boom, 

Rushes  foamingly  forth  from  the  heart  of  the  gloom. 

And  it  bubbles  and  seethes,  and  it  hisses  and  roars, 
As  when  fire  is  with  water  commixed  and  contending ; 

And  the  spray  of  its  wrath  to  the  welkin  upsoars, 
And  flood  upon  flood  hurries  on,  never  ending ; 

And  it  never  will  rest,  nor  from  travail  be  free, 

Like  a  sea  that  is  laboring  the  birth  of  a  sea. 

And  at  last  there  lay  open  the  desolate  realm  ! 

Through  the  breakers  that  whitened  the  waste  of  the 

swell, 
Dark,  dark,  yawned  a  cleft  in  the  midst  of  the  whelm, 

The  path  to  the  heart  of  that  fathomless  hell. 


32  THE  DIVER. 

Round  and  round  whirled  the  waves,  deep  and  deeper 
still  driven, 

Like  a  gorge  through  the  mountainous  main  thunder- 
riven. 

The  youth  gave  his  trust  to  his  Maker.     Before 
That  path  through  the  riven  abyss  closed  again  — 

Hark  !  a  shriek  from  the  crowd  rang  aloft  from  the  shore, 
And,  behold  !  he  is  whirled  in  the  grasp  of  the  main  ! 

And  o'er  him  the  breakers  mysteriously  rolled, 

And  the  giant-mouth  closed  on  the  swimmer  so  bold. 

O'er  the  surface  grim  silence  lay  dark  and  profound  ; 

But  the  deep  from  below  murmured  hollow  and  fell ; 
And  the  crowd,  as  it  shuddered,  lamented  aloud,  — 

"  Gallant    youth,  noble  heart,  fare  thee   well,  fare  thee 

well ! " 

And  still  ever  deepening,  that  wail,  as  of  woe, 
More  hollow  the  gulf  sent  its  howl  from  below. 

If  thou  shouldst  in  those  waters  thy  diadem  fling, 
And  cry,  "Who  may  find  it  shall  win  it  and  wear," 

God's  not ;  though  the  prize  were  the  crown  of  a  king, 
A  crown  at  such  hazard  were  valued  too  dear ; 

For  never  did  life  of  the  living  reveal 

What  the  deeps  that  howl  yonder  in  terror  conceal. 

Oh,  many  a  ship,  to  that  breast  grappled  fast, 

Has  gone  down  to  the  fearful  and  fathomless  grave  ! 

Again,  crashed  together,  the  keel  and  the  mast, 
To  be  seen  tossed  aloft  in  the  glee  of  the  wave. 

Like  the  growth  of  a  storm,  ever  louder  and  clearer, 

Grows  the  roar  of  the  gulf,  rising  nearer  and  nearer. 


THE  DIVER.  33 

And  it  bubbles  and  seethes,  and  it  hisses  and  roars, 
As  when  fire  is  with  water  commixed  and  contending ; 

And  the  spray  of  its  wrath  to  the  welkin  upsoars, 
And  flood  upon  flood  hurries  on,  never  ending, 

As  with  the  swell  of  the  far  thunder-boom, 

Rushes  soaringly  forth  from  the  heart  of  the  gloom. 

And,  lo  !  from  the  heart  of  the  far-floating  gloom, 

What  gleams  on  the  darkness  so  swan-like  and  white? 

Lo  !  an  arm  and  a  neck  glancing  up  from  the  tomb  : 
They  battle,  —  the  man's  with  the  element's  might. 

It  is  he  !  it  is  he  !     In  his  left  hand  behold, 

As  a  sign,  as  a  joy,  shines  the  goblet  of  gold ! 

And  he  breathed  deep,  and  he  breathed  long, 
And  he  greeted  the  heavenly  delight  of  the  day : 

They  gaze  on  each  other ;  they  shout,  as  they  throng,  — 
"  He  lives  —  lo,  the  ocean  has  rendered  its  prey  ! 

And  out  of  the  grave  where  the  hell  began 

His  valor  has  rescued  the  living  man  ! " 

And  he  comes  with  the  crowd  in  their  clamor  and  glee, 
And  the  goblet  his  daring  has  won  from  the  water 

He  lifts  to  the  king  as  he  sinks  on  his  knee ; 

And  the  king  from   her  maidens    has    beckoned    his 
daughter ; 

And  he  bade  her  the  wine  to  his  cup-bearer  bring, 

And  thus  spake  the  diver,  "  Long  life  to  the  king  ! 

"  Happy  they  whom  the  rose-hues  of  daylight  rejoice,  — 
The  air  and  the  sky  that  to  mortals  are  given  ! 

May  the  horror  below  nevermore  find  a  voice, 

Nor  man  stretch  too  far  the  wide  mercy  of  Heaven ! 


34  THE  DIVER. 

Nevermore,  nevermore  may  he  lift  from  the  mirror 
The  veil  which  is  woven  with  NIGHT  and  with  TERROR  ! 

"  Quick,  brightening  like  lightning,  it  tore  me  along, 

Down,  down,  till  the  gush  of  a  torrent  at  play 
In  the  rocks  of  its  wilderness  caught  me,  and,  strong 

As  the  wings  of  an  eagle,  it  whirled  me  away. 
Vain,   vain,    were    my   struggles:    the    circle    had   won 

me; 

Round  and  round  in  its  dance  the  wild  element  spun 
me. 

"And   I   called  on  my  God,  and   my  God   heard   my 
prayer 

In  the  strength  of  my  need,  in  the  gasp  of  my  breath, 
And  showed  me  a  crag  that  rose  up  from  the  lair  ; 

And  I  clung  to  it,  trembling,  and  baffled  the  death  ! 
And,  safe  in  the  perils  around  me,  behold, 
On  the  spikes  of  the  coral  the  goblet  of  gold  ! 

"  Below,  at  the  foot  of  that  precipice  drear, 

Spread  the  gloomy  and  purple  and  pathless  obscure ; 

A  silence  of  horror  that  slept  on  the  ear, 

That  the  eye  more  appalled  might  the  horror  endure. 

Salamander,  snake,  dragon,  vast  reptiles  that  dwell 

In  the  deep,  coiled  about  the  grim  jaws  of  their  hell. 

"  Dark  crawled,  glided  dark,  the  unspeakable  swarms, 
Like  masses  unshapen,  made  life  hideously  — 

Here  clung  and  here  bristled  the  fashionless  forms  ; 
Here  the  hammer-fish  darkened  the  dark  of  the  sea ; 

And  with  teeth  grinning  white,  and  a  menacing  motion, 

Went  the  terrible  shark,  the  hyena  of  ocean. 


THE  DIVER.  35 

"  There  I  hung,  and  the  awe  gathered  icily  o'er  me  ; 

So  far  from  the  earth,  where  man's  help  there  was  none  ! 
The  one  human  thing,  with  the  goblins  before  me  — 

Alone  —  in  a  loneliness  so  ghastly  —  ALONE  ! 
Fathom-deep  from  man's  eye  in  the  speechless  profound, 
With  the  death  of  the  main,  and  the  monsters  around. 

"  Methought,  as  I  gazed  through  the  darkness,  that  now 
A  hundred-limbed  creature  caught  sight  of  its  prey, 

And  darted  —    O  God  !  from  the  far-flaming  bough 
Of  the  coral  I  swept  on  the  horrible  way ; 

And  it  seized  me  —  the  wave  with  its  wrath  and  its  roar, 

It  seized  me  to  save.     King,  the  danger  is  o'er  !  " 

On  the  youth  gazed  the  monarch,  and  marvelled  :  quoth 
he, 

"  Bold  diver,  the  goblet  I  promised  is  thine ; 
And  this  ring  will  I  give,  a  fresh  guerdon  to  thee,  — 

Never  jewels  more  precious  shone  up  from  the  mine, — 
If  thou'lt  bring  me  fresh  tiding,  and  venture  again, 
To  say  what  lies  hid  in  the  innermost  main." 

Then  outspake  the  daughter  in  tender  emotion : 
"Ah,  father,  my  father  !  what  more  can  there  rest? 

Enough  of  this  sport  with  the  pitiless  ocean  : 

He  has  served  thee  as  none  would,  thyself  has  confest. 

If  nothing  can  slack  thy  wild  thirst  of  desire, 

Be  your  knights  not,  at  least,  put  to  shame  by  the  squire  !  " 

The  king  seized  the  goblet :  he  swung  it  on  high, 
And,  whirling,  it  fell  in  the  roar  of  the  tide  : 

"  But  bring  back  that  goblet  again  to  my  eye, 

And  I'll  hold  thee  the  dearest  that  rides  by  my  side, 


36  THE  ENCHANTED  ISLAND. 

And  thy  arms  shall  embrace  as  thy  bride,  I  decree, 
The  maiden  whose  pity  now  pleadeth  for  thee." 

In  his  heart  as  he  listened  there  leapt  a  wild  joy, 

And  the  hope  and  the  love  through  his  eyes  spoke  in  fire. 

On  that  bloom,  on  that  blush,  gazed  delighted  the  boy. 
The  maiden  she  faints  at  the  feet  of  her  sire. 

Here  the  guerdon  divine,  there  the  danger  beneath : 

He  resolves.     To  the  strife  with  the  life  and  the  death. 

They  hear  the  loud  surges  sweep  back  in  their  swell ; 

Their  coming  the  thunder-sound  heralds  along. 
Fond  eyes  yet  are  tracking  the  spot  where  he  fell. 

They  come,  the  wild  waters  in  tumult  and  throng, 
Rearing  up  to  the  cliff,  roaring  back  as  before ; 
But  no  wave  ever  brought  the  lost  youth  to  the  shore. 

JOHANN  CHRISTOPH  FRIEDRICH  VON  SCHILLER, 


THE    ENCHANTED    ISLAND. 

TO  Rathlin's  Isle  I  chanced  to  sail 
When  summer  breezes  softly  blew, 
And  there  I  heard  so  sweet  a  tale 
That  oft  I  wished  it  could  be  true. 
They  said,  at  eve,  when  rude  winds  sleep, 
And  hushed  is  every  turbid  swell, 
A  mermaid  rises  from  the  deep, 
And  sweetly  tunes  her  magic  shell. 

And,  while  she  plays,  rock,  dell,  and  cave 

In  dying  falls  the  sound  retain, 

As  if  some  choral  spirits  gave 

Their  aid  to  swell  her  witching  strain. 


THE  INCHCAPE  ROCK.  37 

Then,  summoned  by  that  dulcet  note, 

Uprising  to  the  admiring  view, 

A  fairy  island  seems  to  float 

With  tints  of  many  a  gorgeous  hue. 

They  also  say,  if  earth  and  stone 
From  verdant  Erin's  hallowed  land 
Were  on  this  magic  island  thrown, 
Forever  fixed  it  then  would  stand. 
But  when  for  this  some  little  boat 
In  silence  ventures  from  the  shore, 
The  mermaid  sinks,  hushed  is  the  note, 
The  fairy  isle  is  seen  no  more. 

ANONYMOUS. 


THE    INCHCAPE    ROCK. 

NO  stir  in  the  air,  no  stir  in  the  sea : 
The  ship  was  still  as  she  might  be ; 
Her  sails  from  heaven  received  no  motion ; 
Her  keel  was  steady  in  the  ocean. 

Without  either  sign  or  sound  of  their  shock, 
The  waves  flowed  over  the  Inchcape  Rock : 
So  little  they  rose,  so  little  they  fell, 
They  did  not  move  the  Inchcape  bell. 

The  holy  abbot  of  Aberbrothok 
Had  floated  that  bell  on  the  Inchcape  Rock : 
On  the  waves  of  the  storm  it  floated  and  swung, 
And  louder  and  louder  its  warning  rung. 

When  the  rock  was  hid  by  the  tempest's  swell, 
The  mariners  heard  the  warning  bell ; 


38  THE  INCHCAPE  ROCK. 

And  then  they  knew  the  perilous  rock, 
And  blessed  the  priest  of  Aberbrothok. 

The  sun  in  heaven  shone  so  gay, 

All  things  were  joyful  on  that  day ; 

The  sea-birds  screamed  as  they  sported  round, 

And  there  was  pleasure  in  their  sound. 

The  float  of  the  Inchcape  bell  was  seen, 
A  darker  speck  on  the  ocean  green  : 
Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  walked  his  deck, 
And  he  fixed  his  eye  on  the  darker  speck. 

He  felt  the  cheering  power  of  spring, 
It  made  him  whistle,  it  made  him  sing ; 
His  heart  was  mirthful  to  excess  — 
But  the  Rover's  mirth  was  wickedness. 

His  eye  was  on  the  bell  and  float : 
Quoth  he,  "  My  men,  pull  out  the  boat, 
And  row  me  to  the  Inchcape  Rock, 
And  I'll  plague  the  priest  of  Aberbrothok." 

The  boat  is  lowered,  the  boatmen  row, 
And  to  the  Inchcape  Rock  they  go  : 
Sir  Ralph  bent  over  from  the  boat, 
And  cut  the  warning  bell  from  the  float. 

Down  sank  the  bell  with  a  gurgling  sound : 

The  bubbles  rose  and  burst  around. 

Quoth  Sir  Ralph,  "  The  next  who  comes  to  the  rock 

Will  not  bless  the  priest  of  Aberbrothok." 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  sailed  away, 
He  scoured  the  seas  for  many  a  day ; 


THE  INCHCAPE   ROCK.  39 

And  now,  grown  rich  with  plundered  store, 
He  steers  his  course  to  Scotland's  shore. 

So  thick  a  haze  o'erspreads  the  sky, 
They  could  not  see  the  sun  on  high ; 
The  wind  had  blown  a  gale  all  day, 
At  evening  it  hath  died  away. 

On  the  deck  the  Rover  takes  his  stand : 
So  dark  it  is,  they  see  no  land. 
Quoth  Sir  Ralph,  "  It  will  be  lighter  soon, 
For  then  is  the  dawn  of  the  rising  moon." 

"Canst  hear,"  said  one,  "the  breakers  roar? 
For  yonder,  methinks,  should  be  the  shore. 
Now  where  we  are  I  cannot  tell ; 
But  I  wish  we  could  hear  the  Inchcape  bell ! " 

They  hear  no  sound ;  the  swell  is  strong ; 
Though  the  wind  hath  fallen,  they  drift  along, 
Till  the  vessel  strikes  with  a  shivering  shock  — 
O  Christ !  it  is  the  Inchcape  Rock  ! 

Sir  Ralph  the  Rover  tore  his  hair, 
He  cursed  himself  in  his  despair : 
The  waves  rush  in  on  every  side, 
The  ship  is  sinking  beneath  the  tide. 

But  even  in  his  dying  fear 
One  dreadful  sound  could  the  Rover  hear,  — 
A  sound  as  if,  with  the  Inchcape  bell, 
The  Devil  below  was  ringing  his  knell. 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 


40  THE  LADY  RIBERTA'S  HARVEST. 

THE    LAD^    RIBBRTA'S    HARVEST. 

JN  the  days  of  eld  there  was  wont  to  be 
On  the  jagged  coast  of  the  Zuyder  Zee 
A  city  from  whence  broad  galleons  went 
To  distant  island  and  continent, 
To  lands  that  under  the  tropics  lay, 
Ind,  and  the  fabled  far  Cathay, 
To  gather  from  earth  and  sea  and  air 
All  that  was  beautiful,  rich,  and  rare ; 
And  back  they  voyaged  so  laden  full 
With  fairy  fabrics  from  old  Stamboul, 
With  pungent  woods  that  breathed  out  balms, 
With  broidered  stuffs  from  the  realm  of  palms, 
With  shawls  from  the  marts  of  Ispahan, 
With  marvellous  lacquers  from  strange  Japan, 
That  through  this  traffic  on  many  a  sea 
So  grand  did  its  merchants  grow  to  be, 
That  even  Venetian  lords  became 
Half  covetous  of  the  city's  fame. 

n. 

The  Lady  Riberta's  fleet  was  great, 
And  year  by  year  had  brought  such  store 
Of  treasures,  until  in  her  queenly  state 
There  scarcely  sufficed  her  room  for  more. 
Her  feasts  —  no  prince  in  the  realms  around 
Had  service  so  rich,  or  food  so  fine, 
As  daily  her  carven  tables  crowned  ; 
And  proud  she  was  of  her  luscious  cates, 
And  her  rare  conserves,  and  her  priceless  wine, 
And  her  golden  salvers  and  golden  plates ; 


THE  LADY  RIBERTA'S  HARVEST.  41 

For  all  that  the  sea  or  the  shore  could  bring 
Was  hers  for  the  fairest  furnishing. 

in. 

It  fell,  one  day,  that  a  stranger  came, 
In  garb  of  an  Eastern  sage  arrayed, 
Commended  by  one  of  noble  name. 
He  had  traversed  many  a  clime,  he  said, 
And,  whithersoever  he  went,  had  heard 
Of  the  Lady  Riberta's  state,  that  so 
In  his  heart  a  secret  yearning  stirred 
To  find  if  the  tale  were  true,  or  no. 
At  once  the  Lady  Riberta's  pride' 
Upsprang  ;  and  into  her  lordly  hall 
She  led  the  stranger,  and  at  her  side 
She  bade  him  be  seated  in  sight  of  all. 

IV. 

Silver  and  gold  around  him  gleamed ; 

The  daintiest  dishes  before  him  steamed ; 

The  rarest  of  fish  and  flesh  and  bird, 

Fruits  all  flushed  with  the  tropic  sun, 

Nuts  whose  name  he  had  never  heard, 

Were  offered.     The  stranger  would  have  none ; 

Nor  spake  he  in  praise  a  single  word. 

"  Doth  any  thing  lack,"  with  chafe,  at  last, 

The  hostess  queried,  "from  the  repast?  " 

Gravely  the  guest  then  gave  reply : 

"  Lady,  since  thou  dost  question,  I, 

Daring  to  speak  the  truth  alway, 

Even  in  such  a  presence,  say 

Something  is  wanting.     I  have  sate 

Oft  at  the  tables  of  rich  and  great, 


4 2  THE  LADY  RIBERTA'S  HAR VES T. 

Nor  seen  such  viands  as  these  :  but  yet 
I  marvel  me  much  them  shouldst  forget 
The  world's  one  best  thing ;  for  'tis  clear, 
Whatever  beside,  //  is  not  here." 

v. 

"Name  it,"  the  lady  flashed,  "and  nought 

Will  I  grudge  of  search  till  the  best  is  brought." 

But  never  another  word  the  guest 

Uttered,  as  soothly  he  waived  aside 

Her  question,  that  in  the  heat  of  pride, 

Mindless  of  courtesy,  still  she  pressed. 

And  when,  from  her  grand  refection-hall, 

They  fared  from  their  feasting,  one  and  all, 

Again,  with  a  heightened  tone  and  air, 

To  the  guest  she  turned ;  but  no  guest  was  there. 

"  I'll  have  it,"  she  stamped,  "  whatever  it  be  : 

I'll  scour  the  land,  and  I'll  sweep  the  sea, 

Nor  ever  the  tireless  quest  resign 

Till  I  know  the  world's  one  best  thing  mine." 

VI. 

Once  more  were  the  white-sailed  galleons  sent 
To  far-off  island  and  continent 
In  search  of  the  most  delicious  things 
That  ever  had  whetted  the  greed  of  kings ; 
But  none  of  the  luxuries  that  they  had  brought 
Seemed  quite  the  marvel  the  lady  sought. 

VII. 

At  length,  from  his  latest  voyage  back 
Sailed  one  of  her  captains  :  he  told  her  how 
Wild  weather  had  driven  him  from  his  track, 
And  his  vessel  had  sprung  a  leak,  till  bow 


THE  LADY  RIBERTA^S  HARVEST.  43 

And  stern  had  merged,  and  a  rim  of  mould 
Had  mossed  the  flour  within  the  hold, 
And  nothing  was  left  but  wine  and  meat, 
Through  weary  weeks,  for  the  crew  to  eat. 
"Then  the  words  of  the  stranger  rose,"  he  said  ; 
"  And  I  felt  that  the  one  best  thing  was  bread, 
And  so  for  a  cargo  I  was  fain 
Thereafter  to  load  my  ships  with  grain." 

VIII. 

The  Lady  Riberta's  wrath  outsprang 

Like  a  sword  from  its  sheath,  and  her  keen  voice  rang 

Sharp  as  a  lance-thrust :  "  Get  thee  back 

To  the  vessels,  and  have  forth  every  sack, 

And  spill  in  the  sea  thy  cursed  store, 

Nor  ever  sail  with  my  galleons  more  ! " 

IX. 

The  people  who  hungered  for  daily  bread 
Prayed  that  to  them  in  their  need,  instead, 
The  grain  might  be  dealt ;  but  she  heeded  none, 
Nor  rested  until  the  deed  was  done. 

x. 

The  months  passed  on  ;  and  the  harvest  sown 
In  the  furrows  of  deep-sea  fields  had  grown 
To  a  forest  of  slender  stalks,  a  wide 
Strong  net  to  trap  whatever  the  tide 
Drew  on  in  its  wake,  —  the  drift  and  wreck 
Of  many  a  shattered  mast  and  deck, 
And  all  the  tangle  of  weeds  there  be 
Afloat  in  the  trough  of  the  plunging  sea ; 
Until,  as  the  years  went  by,  a  shoal 
Of  sand  had  tided  a  sunken  mole 


44  JUBILATE. 

Across  the  mouth  of  the  port,  that  so 
The  galleys  were  foundered,  and  to  and  fro 
No  longer  went  forth ;  and  merchants  sought 
Harbors  elsewhere  for  the  stores  they  brought. 
The  Lady  Riberta's  ships  went  down 
In  the  offing ;  the  city's  old  renown 
Faded  and  fled  with  its  commerce  dead ; 
And  the  Lady  Riberta  begged  for  bread. 

IX. 

The  hungry  billows  with  rage  and  roar 
Have  broken  the  ancient  barriers  o'er, 
And  bitten  their  way  to  the  shore  ; 
And,  where  such  traffic  was  wont  to  be, 
The  voyager  now  can  only  see 
The  spume  and  fret  of  the  Zuyder  Zee. 

MARGARET  J    PRESTON. 
JUBILATE. 

GRAY  distance  hid  each  shining  sail, 
By  ruthless  breezes  borne  from  me ; 
And  lessening,  fading,  faint,  and  pale, 
My  ships  went  forth  to  sea. 

Where  misty  breakers  rose  and  fell, 
I  stood,  and  sorrowed  hopelessly ; 

For  every  wave  had  tales  to  tell 
Of  wrecks  far  out  at  sea. 

To-day  a  song  is  on  my  lips  : 
Earth  seems  a  paradise  to  me ; 

For  God  is  good,  and,  lo,  my  ships 
Are  coming  home  from  sea  ! 

GEORGE  ARNOLD. 


r 


THE  LITTLE  SEAMAN.  45 

THE    LITTLE    SEAMAN. 

N  her  lofty  bower  a  virgin  sat 
On  skins,  embroidering  gold, 
When  there  came  a  little  seaman  by, 

And  would  the  maid  behold. 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  And  hear  now,  little  seaman, 

Hear  what  I  say  to  thee ; 
An'  hast  thou  any  mind  this  hour 

To  play  gold  dice  with  me  ?  " 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  But  how  and  can  I  play  now 
The  golden  dice  with  thee  ? 
For  no  red  shining  gold  I  have 

That  I  can  stake  'gainst  thee." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  And  surely  thou  canst  stake  thy  jacket, 

Canst  stake  thy  jacket  gray  ; 
While  then  against  myself  will  stake 

My  own  fair  gold  rings  twa." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

So,  then,  the  first  gold  die,  I  wot, 

On  table-board  did  run  ; 
And  the  little  seaman  lost  his  stake, 

And  the  pretty  maiden  won. 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  And  hear  now,  little  seaman, 
Hear  what  I  say  to  thee ; 


46  THE  LITTLE  SEAMAN. 

And  hast  them  any  mind  this  hour 

To  play  gold  dice  with  me  ?  " 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away ! 

"  But  how  and  can  I  play  now 

The  golden  dice  with  thee? 
For  no  red  shining  gold  I  have 

That  I  can  stake  'gainst  thee."   ' 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  Thou  surely  this  old  hat  canst  stake, 

Canst  stake  thy  hat  so  gray ; 
And  I  will  stake  my  bright  gold  crown : 

Come,  take  it,  if  ye  may." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away ! 

And  so  the  second  die  of  gold 

On  table-board  did  run  ; 
And  the  little  seaman  lost  his  stake, 

While  the  pretty  maiden  won. 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  And  hear  now,  little  seaman, 

Hear  what  I  say  to  thee ; 
An'  hast  thou  any  mind  this  hour 

To  play  gold  dice  with  me  ?  " 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  Then  stake  each  of  thy  stockings, 
And  each  silver-buckled  shoe  ; 

And  I  will  stake  mine  honor, 
And  eke  my  troth  thereto." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 


THE  LITTLE  SEAMAN.  47 

And  so  the  third  gold  die,  I  wot, 

On  table-board  did  run  ; 
And  the  pretty  maiden  lost  her  stake, 

While  the  little  seaman  won. 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away ! 

"  Come,  hear  now,  little  seaman, 

Haste  far  away  from  me  ; 
And  a  ship  that  stems  the  briny  flood  — 

I  that  will  give  to  thee." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  A  ship  that  stems  the  briny  flood 

I'll  get,  if 't  can  be  done  ; 
But  that  young  virgin  have  I  will 
Whom  with  gold  dice  I  won." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  Come,  hear  now,  little  seaman, 

Haste  far  away  from  me  ; 
And  a  shirt  so  fine,  with  seams  of  silk, 

I  that  will  give  to  thee." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  Nay,  hear  now,  little  seaman, 

Haste  far  away  from  me  ; 
And  the  half  of  this  my  kingdom  — 

I  that  will  give  to  thee." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

"  The  half  of  this  thy  kingdom 

I'll  get,  if 't  can  be  done  ; 
But  that  young  virgin  have  I  will 

Whom  with  gold  dice  I  won." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away ! 


48  SONG. 

And  the  virgin  in  her  chamber  goes, 

And  parts  her  flowing  hair ; 
"  Ah,  me  !  poor  maid,  I  soon,  alas  ! 
The  marriage-crown  must  bear." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

The  seaman  treads  the  floor  along, 

And  with  his  sword  he  played  : 
"As  good  a  match  as  ere  thou'rt  worth 

Thou  gettest,  little  maid  !  " 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away  ! 

For  I,  God  wot,  no  seaman  am, 

Although  ye  thinken  so  : 
The  best  king's  son  I  am,  instead, 

That  in  Engelande  can  go." 
But  with  golden  dice  they  played,  they  played  away ! 

FROM  THE  SWEDISH. 


SONG. 

IT  was  Earl  Haldan's  daughter, 
She  looked  across  the  sea, 
She  looked  across  the  water, 

And  long  and  loud  laughed  she  : 
"  The  locks  of  six  princesses 
Must  be  my  marriage-fee, 
So  hey,  bonny  boat,  and  ho,  honny  boat ! 
Who  comes  a-wooing  me?" 

It  was  Earl  Haldan's  daughter, 

She  walked  along  the  sand, 
When  she  was  aware  of  a  knight  so  fair 

Came  sailing  to  the  land. 


THE  LEAK  IN   THE  DIKE.  49 

His  sails  were  all  of  velvet, 

His  mast  of  beaten  gold, 
And  "  Hey,  bonny  boat,  and  ho,  bonny  boat ! 

Who  saileth  here  so  bold?" 

"The  locks  of  five  princesses 

I  won  beyond  the  sea ; 
I  dipt  their  golden  tresses 

To  fringe  a  cloak  for  thee. 
One  handful  yet  is  wanting, 

But  one  of  all  the  tale  : 
So  hey,  bonny  boat,  and  ho,  bonny  boat ! 

Furl  up  thy  velvet  sail !  " 

He  leapt  into  the  water, 

That  rover  young  and  bold ; 
He  gript  Earl  Haldan's  daughter ; 

He  dipt  her  locks  of  gold. 
"  Go  weep,  go  weep,  proud  maiden, 

The  tale  is  full  to-day. 
Now  hey,  bonny  boat,  and  ho,  bonny  boat ! 

Sail  westward  ho  away  !  " 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 


THE    LEAK    IN    THE    DIKE. 

THE  good  dame  looked  from  her  cottage 
At  the  close  of  the  pleasant  day, 
And  cheerily  called  to  her  little  son, 

Outside  the  door  at  play  : 
"  Come,  Peter,  come  !     I  want  you  to  go, 

While  there  is  light  to  see, 
To  the  hut  of  the  blind  old  man  who  lives 
Across  the  dike,  for  me  ; 


50  THE  LEAK  IN   THE  DIKE. 

And  take  these  cakes  I  made  for  him  — 
They  are  hot  and  smoking  yet : 

You  have  time  enough  to  go  and  come 
Before  the  sun  is  set." 

Then  the  goodwife  turned  to  her  labor, 

Humming  a  simple  song, 
And  thought  of  her  husband  working  hard 

At  the  sluices  all  day  long, 
And  set  the  turf  a-blazing, 

And  brought  the  coarse  black  bread, 
That  he  might  find  a  fire  at  night, 

And  find  the  table  spread. 

And  now  with  face  all  glowing, 

And  eyes  as  bright  as  the  day 
With  the  thoughts  of  his  pleasant  errand, 

He  trudged  along  the  way  ; 
And  soon  his  joyous  prattle 

Made  glad  a  lonesome  place. 
Alas  !  if  only  the  blind  old  man 

Could  have  seen  that  happy  face  ! 
Yet  he  somehow  caught  the  brightness 

Which  his  voice  and  presence  lent, 
And  he  felt  the  sunshine  come  and  go 

As  Peter  came  and  went. 

And  now  as  the  day  was  sinking, 
And  the  wind  began  to  rise, 

The  mother  looked  from  her  door  again, 
Shading  her  anxious  eyes, 

And  saw  the  shadows  deepen, 

And  birds  to  their  homes  come  back, 


THE  LEAK  IN  THE  DIKE.  51 

But  never  a  sign  of  Peter 

Along  the  level  track. 
But  she  said,  "  He  will  come  at  morning : 

So  I  need  not  fret  or  grieve  — 
Though  it  isn't  like  my  boy  at  all 

To  stay  without  my  leave." 

But  where  was  the  child  delaying? 

On  the  homeward  way  was  he, 
And  across  the  dike,  while  the  sun  was  up 

An  hour  above  the  sea. 
He  was  stooping  now  to  gather  flowers, 

Now  listening  to  the  sound 
Of  the  wrathful  waters  dashing 

Against  their  narrow  bound. 
"  Ah,  well  for  us  !  "  said  Peter, 

"  That  the  gates  are  good  and  strong ; 
And  my  father  tends  them  carefully, 

Or  they  would  not  hold  you  long. 
You're  a  wicked  sea  ! "  said  Peter. 

"  I  know  why  you  fret  and  chafe  : 
You  would  like  to  spoil  our  lands  and  homes ; 

But  our  sluices  keep  you  safe." 

But  hark  !  through  the  noise  of  waters 

Comes  a  low,  clear,  trickling  sound  ; 
And  the  child's  face  pales  with  terror 

As  his  blossoms  drop  to  the  ground. 
He  is  up  the  bank  in  a  moment ; 

And,  stealing  through  the  sand, 
He  sees  a  stream  not  yet  so  large 

As  his  slender,  childish  hand. 
"  '  Tis  a  leak  in  the  dike  !     He  is  but  a  boy, 


52  THE  LEAK  IN  THE  DIKE. 

Unused  to  fearful  scenes ; 
But,  young  as  he  is,  he  has  learned  to  know 

The  dreadful  thing  that  means. 
A  leak  in  the  dike  !     The  stoutest  heart 

Grows  faint  that  cry  to  hear, 
And  the  bravest  man  in  all  the  land 

Turns  white  with  mortal  fear  : 
For  he  knows  the  smallest  leak  may  grow 

To  a  flood  in  a  single  night ; 
And  he  knows  the  strength  of  the  cruel  sea 

When  loosed  in  its  angry  might. 

And  the  boy  —  he  has  seen  the  danger ; 

And,  shouting  a  wild  alarm, 
He  forces  back  the  weight  of  the  sea 

With  the  strength  of  his  single  arm. 
He  listens  for  the  joyful  sound  of  a  footstep 
passing  nigh, 

And  lays  his  ear  to  the  ground  to  catch 
The  answer  to  his  cry ; 

.And  he  hears  the  rough  winds  blowing, 
And  the  waters  rise  and  fall : 

But  never  an  answer  comes  to  him, 
Save  the  echo  of  his  call. 

He  sees  no  hope,  no  succor ; 

His  feeble  voice  is  lost : 
Yet  what  shall  he  do  but  watch  and  wait, 

Though  he  perish  at  his  post ! 
So,  faintly  calling  and  crying 

Till  the  sun  is  under  the  sea, 
Crying  and  moaning,  till  the  stars 

Come  out  for  company,  — 


THE  LEAK  IN  THE  DIKE.  53 

He  thinks  of  his  brother  and  sister 

Asleep  in  their  safe  warm  bed ; 
He  thinks  of  his  father  and  mother ; 

Of  himself,  as  dying  —  and  dead  ; 
And  of  how,  when  the  night  is  over, 

They  must  come  and  find  him  at  last : 
But  he  never  thinks  he  can  leave  the  place 

Where  duty  holds  him  fast. 

The  good  dame  in  the  cottage 

Is  up  and  astir  with  the  light, 
For  thought  of  her  little  Peter 

Has  been  with  her  all  night ; 
And  now  she  watched  the  pathway, 

As  yester-eve  she  had  done  — 
But  what  does  she  see  so  strange  and  black 

Against  the  rising  sun  ? 
Her  neighbors  are  bearing  between  them 

Something  straight  to  her  door  ; 
Her  child  is  coming  home  —  but  not 

As  he  ever  came  before. 

"  He  is  dead  !  "  she  cries  —  "  my  darling  !  " 

And  the  startled  father  hears, 
And  comes,  and  looks  the  way  she  looks, 

And  fears  the  thing  she  fears, 
Till  a  glad  shout  from  the  bearers 

Thrills  the  stricken  man  and  wife  : 
"  Give  thanks,  for  your  son  has  saved  our  land, 

And  God  has  saved  his  life  ! " 
So  there,  in  the  morning  sunshine, 

They  knelt  about  the  boy ; 
And  every  head  was  bared,  and  bent 

In  tearful,  reverent  joy. 

ANONYMOUS. 


54  MY  SHIP. 


MY    SHIP. 

"T^WAS  a  gallant  craft  as  ever  sailed, 

JL    And  a  marvellous  merry  crew  she  bore, 
When  with  canvas  set,  and  colors  nailed, 

I  sent  her  out  to  a  distant  shore. 
I  sent  her  out  with  a  broad  command 

To  cruise  at  will  through  the  Golden  Isles, 
And  bring  me  the  product  of  every  land 

That  the  soul  delights,  or  the  sense  beguiles. 

Tough  are  the  timbers  that  compass  her  sides, 

And  the  lines  are  graceful  that  curve  to  her  keel ; 
And  she  leaves  a  foamy  wake  as  she  rides 

Secure,  with  her  steadiest  man  at  the  wheel. 
And  that  foamy  wake  in  my  dreams  I  see 

Where  whitens  the  wave  for  a  thousand  miles ; 
And  the  man  at  the  wheel,  unmindful  of  me, 

Is  looking  ahead  for  the  Golden  Isles. 

If  waking  I  walk  on  the  lonely  shore, 

The  foam  of  her  furrow  has  melted  away ; 
And  I  know  that  her  sailors  are  merry  no  more, 

And  her  pilot  I  know  must  be  withered  and  gray : 
But  I  still  believe  that  her  ensign  burns, 

And  on  her  brown  canvas  the  sunlight  smiles, 
As  heavily  laden  she  homeward  turns, 

Or  cruises  yet  mid  the  Golden  Isles. 

And  I  never  doubt  she  will  surely  come, 

Riding  in  on  some  happy  tide,  . 
Strained  and  battered,  but  bearing  home 

All  that  she  sought  o'er  the  ocean  wide. 


THE  HOLY  LIGHT.  55 

And  if  Father  Charon  should  pluck  my  sleeve, 
And  point  to  his  skiff,  with  a  laughing  lip 

I'd  do  his  bidding,  and  still  believe 
I  am  only  going  to  meet  my  ship. 

ROSSITER  JOHNSON. 

THE    HOLY    LIGHT. 

HILDEBRAND  the  hermit  sits 
Gazing  out  beyond  the  bay  : 
Round  and  round  the  curlew  flits, 

Dashed  with  flecks  of  snowy  spray. 
Suddenly  an  angry  roar 

Comes  across  the  darkening  foam  : 
Women  gather  on  the  shore, 

Watching  vessels  far  from  home ; 
Sullen  murmurs  fill  the  air, 

Preludes  of  an  awful  night ; 
And  the  hermit  breathes  a  prayer 

As  he  trims  the  holy  light. 

Weary  toilers  on  the  deep, 

In  whose  heart  their  bread  is  cast, 
Men  for  whom  the  women  weep, 

Will  be  welcomed  home  at  last ; 
Guided  by  that  silver  spark, 

Hope  will  fill  their  honest  breasts ; 
Safe  they'll  steer  their  bonny  bark 

To  the  haven  where  she  rests. 
Noble  vessels  outward  bound, 

As  they  travel  out  of  sight, 
Cheer  and  blessings  fling  around,  — 

Farewells  to  the  holy  light. 


56  THE  HOLY  LIGHT. 

Now  the  boats  are  safely  home, 

And  the  village  is  asleep  : 
Who  are  these  that  darkly  roam, 

Laughing  at  the  angry  deep  ? 
Wreckers,  waiting  for  the  prey 

Flung  them  by  the  faithless  waves, 
Haunt  by  night  the  lonely  bay, 

Hide  by  day  in  hollow  caves ; 
And  these  robbers  of  the  dead 

View  the  beacon  burning  bright, 
Watch  the  breakers  far  ahead, 

And  they  curse  the  holy  light. 

Hildebrand  the  hermit  sees 

Shadows  tremble  on  the  sand ; 
And  he  sinks  him  on  his  knees, 

For  he  fears  the  wrecker's  hand. 
Hildebrand  unbars  the  door, 

Wanders  from  his  lonely  cell : 
All  is  silent  on  the  shore, 

And  he  fancies  all  is  well. 
Silently  the  village  sleeps 

Through  the  fury  of  the  night ; 
Stealthily  a  woman  creeps 

Underneath  the  holy  light. 

Fiercely  howls  the  baffled  storm  ; 

Sulkily  the  waves  retreat, 
Washing  up  one  lifeless  form 

To  a  lonely  woman's  feet. 
Round  the  neck  and  features  stiff 

Greedily  her  fingers  play  : 
All  is  darkness  on  the  cliff, 

All  is  darkness  round  the  bay. 


THE  RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER.      57 

Now  the  stars  faint  one  by  one, 

Morning  breaks  —  ah,  God  !  the  sight, 

When  the  woman  finds  her  son 
Dead,  beneath  the  holy  light. 

CLEMENT  W.  SCOTT. 


THE    RIME    OF    THE    ANCIENT    MARINER. 

IT  is  an  ancient  mariner, 
And  he  stoppeth  one  of  three  : 
"  By  thy  long  gray  beard  and  glittering  eye, 
Now,  wherefore  stopp'st  thou  me  ? 

"  The  bridegroom's  doors  are  opened  wide, 
And  I  am  next  of  kin ; 
The  guests  are  met,  the  feast  is  set ; 
Mayst  hear  the  merry  din." 

He  holds  him  with  his  skinny  hand : 
"There  was  a  ship,"  quoth  he. 
"  Hold  off !  unhand  me,  graybeard  loon  !  " 
Eftsoons  his  hand  dropt  he. 

He  holds  him  with  his  glittering  eye  — 
The  wedding-guest  stood  still, 
And  listens  like  a  three-years'  child  : 
The  mariner  hath  his  will. 

With  sloping  masts  and  dripping  prow, 

As  who  pursued  with  yell  and  blow 

Still  treads  the  shadow  of  his  foe, 

And  forward  bends  his  head, 

The  ship  drove  fast,  loud  roared  the  blast, 

And  southward  aye  we  fled. 


58      THE  RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER. 

At  length  did  cross  an  albatross, 
Thorough  the  fog  it  came  : 
As  if  it  had  been  a  Christian  soul, 
We  hailed  it  in  God's  name. 

In  mist  or  cloud,  on  mast  or  shroud, 

It  perched  for  vespers  nine  ; 

Whiles  all  the  night,  through  fog  smoke-white, 

Glimmered  the  white  moonshine. 

"  God  save  thee,  ancient  mariner, 
From  the  fiends  that  plague  thee  thus  ! 
Why  look'st  thou  so?"     With  my  cross-bow 
I  shot  the  albatross. 

And  the  good  south  wind  still  blew  behind ; 
But  no  sweet  bird  did  follow, 
Nor  any  day  for  food  or  play 
Came  to  the  mariner's  hollo  ! 

Down  dropt  the  breeze,  the  sails  dropt  down, 
'Twas  sad  as  sad  could  be  ; 
And  we  did  speak  only  to  break 
The  silence  of  the  sea. 

All  in  a  hot  and  copper  sky 
The  bloody  sun,  at  noon, 
Right  up  above  the  mast  did  stand, 
No  bigger  than  the  moon. 

Day  after  day,  day  after  day, 
We  stuck,  nor  breath  nor  motion ; 
As  idle  as  a  painted  ship 
Upon  a  painted  ocean. 


THE  RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER.      59 

Water,  water,  everywhere, 
And  all  the  boards  did  shrink ; 
Water,  water,  everywhere, 
Nor  any  drop  to  drink* 

About,  about,  in  reel  and  rout, 
The  death-fires  danced  at  night ; 
The  water,  like  a  witch's  oils, 
Burnt  green  and  blue  and  white. 

Ah,  well-a-day  !  what  evil  looks 
Had  I  from  old  and  young  ! 
Instead  of  the  cross,  the  albatross 
About  my  neck  was  hung. 

One  after  one,  by  the  star-dogged  moon, 
Too  quick  for  groan  or  sigh, 
Each  turned  his  face  with  a  ghastly  pang, 
And  cursed  me  with  his  eye. 

Four  times  fifty  living  men, 
(And  I  heard  nor  sigh  nor  groan,) 
With  heavy  thump,  a  lifeless  lump, 
They  dropped  down  one  by  one. 

The  souls  did  from  their  bodies  fly, 
They  fled  to  bliss  or  woe  ! 
And  every  soul  it  passed  me  by 
Like  the  whiz  of  my  cross-bow. 

Alone,  alone,  all,  all  alone,  — 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea  ! 
And  never  a  saint  took  pity  on 
My  soul  in  agony. 


60      THE  RIME   OF   THE  ANCIENT  MARINER. 

I  looked  to  heaven,  and  tried  to  pray ; 
But,  or  ever  a  prayer  had  gushed, 
A  wicked  whisper  came,  and  made 
My  heart  as  dry  as  dust. 

An  orphan's  curse  would  drag  to  hell 

A  spirit  from  on  high ; 

But,  oh  !  more  horrible  than  that 

Is  a  curse  in  a  dead  man's  eye. 

Seven  days,  seven  nights,  I  saw  that  curse, 

And  yet  I  could  not  die. 

The  moving  moon  went  up  the  sky, 
And  nowhere  did  abide  ; 
Softly  she  was  going  up, 
And  a  star  or  two  beside. 

Beyond  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watched  the  water-snakes  : 

They  moved  in  tracks  of  shining  white, 

And,  when  they  reared,  the  elfish  light 

Fell  off  in  hoary  flakes. 

Within  the  shadow  of  the  ship 

I  watched  their  rich  attire  : 

Blue,  glossy  green,  and  velvet  black, 

They  coiled  and  swam  ;  and  every  track 

Was  a  flash  of  golden  fire. 

Oh,  happy,  living  things  !  no  tongue 
Their  beauty  might  declare  : 
A  spring  of  love  gushed  from  my  heart, 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware  : 


THE  RIME   OF  THE  ANCIENT  MARINER.      6 1 

Sure  my  kind  saint  took  pity  on  me, 
And  I  blessed  them  unaware. 

The  selfsame  moment  I  could  pray ; 
And  from  my  neck  so  free 
The  albatross  fell  off,  and  sank 
Like  lead  into  the  sea. 

I  pass,  like  night,  from  land  to  land ; 
I  have  strange  power  of  speech ; 
That  moment  that  his  face  I  see, 
I  know  the  man  that  must  hear  me ; 
To  him  my  tale  I  teach. 

O  wedding-guest !  this  soul  hath  been 
Alone  on  a  wide,  wide  sea : 
So  lonely  'twas,  that  God  himself 
Scarce  seemed  there  to  be. 

Oh  !  sweeter  than  the  marriage-feast, 
Tis  sweeter  far  to  me, 
To  walk  together  to  the  kirk 
With  a  goodly  company,  — 

To  walk  together  to  the  kirk, 

And  all  together  pray, 

While  each  to  his  great  Father  bends, 

Old  men,  and  babes,  and  loving  friends, 

And  youths  and  maidens  gay. 

Farewell,  farewell  !  but  this  I  tell 
To  thee,  thou  wedding-guest : 
He  prayeth  well  who  loveth  well 
Both  man  and  bird  and  beast. 


62  THE  SANDS  <9'   DEE. 

He  prayeth  best  who  loveth  best 
All  things,  both  great  and  small ; 
For  the  dear  God  who  loveth  us, 
He  made  and  loveth  all. 

SAMUEL  TAYLOR  COLERIDGE. 


THE    SANDS    O'    DEB. 


°  and  cal1  the  cattle  home» 
And  call  the  cattle  home, 

And  call  the  cattle  home, 
Across  the  sands  o'  Dee  !  " 
The  western  wind  was  wild,  and  dank  wi'  foam  ; 
And  all  alone  went  she. 

The  creeping  tide  came  up  along  the  sand, 
And  o'er  and  o'er  the  sand, 
And  round  and  round  the  sand, 
As  far  as  eye  could  see  ; 

The  blinding  mist  came  down,  and  hid  the  land  : 
And  never  home  came  she. 

"  Oh,  is  it  weed,  or  fish,  or  floating  hair,  — 
A  tress  o'  golden  hair, 
O'  drowned  maiden's  hair,  — 
Above  the  nets  at  sea  ? 
Was  never  salmon  yet  that  shone  so  fair, 
Among  the  stakes  on  Dee." 

They  rowed  her  in  across  the  rolling  foam, 
The  cruel,  crawling  foam, 
The  cruel,  hungry  foam, 


A   DREAM  OF  DEATH.  63 

To  her  grave  beside  the  sea ; 
But  still  the  boatmen  hear  her  call  the  cattle  home 
Across  the  sands  o'  Dee. 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 


A    DREAM    OF    DEATH. 

"TT  THERE   shall  we  sail   to-day?"   thus   said,  me- 

VV     thought, 

A  voice  that  only  could  be  heard  in  dreams ; 
And  on  we  glided  without  mast  or  oar,  — 
A  wondrojus  boat  upon  a  wondrous  sea. 

Sudden  the  shore  curved  inward  to  a  bay, 
Broad,  calm,  with  gorgeous  seaweeds  waving  slow 
Beneath  the  water,  like  rich  thoughts  that  stir 
In  the  mysterious  deep  of  poet's  hearts. 

So  still,  so  fair,  so  rosy  in  the  dawn, 

Lay  that  bright  bay  ;  yet  something  seemed  to  breathe,  — 

Or  in  the  air,  or  from  the  whispering  waves, 

Or  from  that  voice,  as  near  as  one's  own  soul,  — 

"There   was   a   wreck   last   night"     A   wreck?     Then 

where 

The  ship,  the  crew?    The  all-entombing  sea, 
On  which  is  writ  no  name  nor  chronicle, 
Laid  itself  o'er  them  with  smooth  crystal  smile. 

"  Yet  was  the  wreck  last  night"     And  gazing  down, 
Deep  down  below  the  surface,  we  were  'ware 
Of  ghastly  faces,  with  their  open  eyes 
Uplooking  to  the  dawn  they  could  not  see. 


64  WINSTANLEY. 

One  moved  with  moving  seaweeds  ;  one  lay  prone, 
The  tinted  fishes  gliding  o'er  his  breast ; 
One,  caught  by  floating  hair,  rocked  quietly 
Upon  his  reedy  cradle,  like  a  child. 

"  The  wreck  has  been,"  said  the  melodious  voice ; 
"  Yet  all  is  peace.     The  dead,  that,  while  we  slept, 
Struggled  for  life,  now  sleep,  and  fear  no  storms : 
O'er  them  let  us  not  weep  when  Heaven  smiles." 

So  we  sailed  on  above  the  diamond  sands, 
Bright  sea- flowers,  and  white  faces  stony  calm, 
Till  the  waves  bore  us  to  the  open  main, 
And  the  great  sun  arose  upon  the  world. 

DINAH  MARIA  MULOCK. 


WINSTANLEY. 

WINSTANLEY'S  deed,  you  kindly  folk, 
With  it  I  fill  my  lay ; 

And  a  nobler  man  ne'er  walked  the  world, 
Let  his  name  be  what  it  may. 

The  good  ship  "  Snowdrop  "  tarried  long, 

Up  at  the  vane  looked  he  : 
"  Belike,"  he  said,  for  the  wind  had  dropped, 

"  She  lieth  becalmed  at  sea." 

The  lovely  ladies  flocked  within  ; 

And  still  would  each  one  say, 
"  Good  mercer,  be  the  ships  come  up  ?  " 

But  still  he  answered,  "  Nay." 


WINSTANLEY.  65 

Then  stepped  two  mariners  down  the  street, 

With  looks  of  grief  and  fear : 
"  Now  if  Winstanley  be  your  name, 

We  bring  you  evil  cheer ; 

"  For  the  good  ship  '  Snowdrop  '  struck  —  she  struck 

On  the  rock,  —  the  Eddystone  ; 
And  down  she  went  with  threescore  men, 

We  two  being  left  alone. 

"  Down  in  the  deep  with  freight  and  crew, 

Past  any  help,  she  lies  ; 
And  never  a  bale  has  come  to  shore 

Of  all  thy  merchandise." 

The  "  Snowdrop  "  sank  at  Lammas-tide,  . 

All  under  the  yeasty  spray  : 
On  Christmas  Eve  the  brig  "  Content  "   - 

Was  also  cast  away. 

He  little  thought  o'  New- Year's  night, 

So  jolly  as  he  sat  then, 
While  drank  the  toast,  and  praised  the  roast, 

The  round-faced  aldermen ; 

While  serving-lads  ran  to  and  fro, 

Pouring  the  ruby  wine, 
And  jellies  trembled  on  the  board, 

And  towering  pasties  fine,  — 

He  little  thought  on  Plymouth  Hoe, 

With  every  rising  tide, 
How  the  wave  washed  in  his  sailor-lads, 

And  laid  them  side  by  side. 


66  WINSTANLEY. 

There  stepped  a  stranger  to  the  board. 

"  Now,  stranger,  who  be  ye  ?  " 
He  looked  to  right,  he  looked  to  left, 

And  "  Rest  you  merry,"  quoth  he ; 

"  For  you  did  not  see  the  brig  go  down, 

Or  ever  a  storm  had  blown  ; 
For  you  did  not  see  the  white  wave  rear 

At  the  rock,  —  the  Eddystone. 

"  She  drave  at  the  rock  with  sternsails  set ; 

Crash  went  the  masts  in  twain ; 
She  staggered  back  with  her  mortal  blow, 

Then  leaped  at  it  again. 

"There  rose  a  great  cry,  bitter  and  strong  — 

The  misty  moon  looked  out ; 
And  the  water  swarmed  with  seamen's  heads, 

And  the  wreck  was  strewed  about. 

"  I  saw  her  mainsail  lash  the  sea 

As  I  clung  to  the  rock  alone ; 
Then  she  heeled  over,  and  down  she  went, 

And  sank  like  any  stone. 

"  She  was  a  fair  ship  —  but  all's  one  ! 

For  nought  could  bide  the  shock." 
"  I  will  take  horse,"  Winstanley  said, 

"  And  see  this  deadly  rock ; 

"  For  never  again  shall  bark  of  mine 

Sail  over  the  windy  sea, 
Unless,  by  the  blessing  of  God,  for  this 

Be  found  a  remedy." 


WINSTANLEY.  67 

Winstanley  rode  to  Plymouth  town 

All  in  the  sleet  and  the  snow ; 
And  he  looked  around  on  shore  and  sound 

As  he  stood  on  Plymouth  Hoe, 

Till  a  pillar  of  spray  rose  far  away, 

And  shot  up  its  stately  head,  — 
Reared  and  fell  over,  and  reared  again : 

"  Tis  the  rock  !  the  rock  !  "  he  said. 

Straight  to  the  mayor  he  took  his  way : 

"  Good  master  mayor,"  quoth  he, 
"  I  am  a  mercer  of  London  town, 

And  owner  of  vessels  three. 

"  But  for  your  rock  of  dark  renown, 

I  had  five  to  track  the  main." 
"You  are  one  of  many,"  the  old  mayor  said, 

"That  on  the  rock  complain." 

"  Lend  me  a  lighter,  good  master  mayor, 

And  a  score  of  shipwrights  free ; 
For  I  think  to  raise  a  lantern-tower 

On  this  rock  of  destiny." 

The  old  mayor  laughed,  but  sighed  also. 

"  Ah  !  youth,"  quoth  he,  "  is  rash  : 
Sooner,  young  man,  thou'lt  root  it  out 

From  the  sea  that  doth  it  lash. 

"  Hast  gold  in  hand  ?     Then  light  the  land, 

It  'longs  to  thee  and  me  ; 
But  let  alone  the  deadly  rock 

In  God  Almighty's  sea." 


68  WINSTANLEY. 

Yet  said  he,  "  Nay  :  I  must  away, 

On  the  rock  to  set  my  feet : 
My  debts  are  paid ;  my  will  I  made 

Or  ever  I  did  thee  greet. 

"  If  I  must  die,  then  let  me  die 
By  the  rock,  and  not  elsewhere : 

If  I  may  live,  oh,  let  me  live 
To  mount  my  lighthouse-stair  !  " 

The  old  mayor  looked  him  in  the  face, 
And  answered,  "  Have  thy  way  : 

Thy  heart  is  stout,  as  if  round  about 
It  was  braced  with  an  iron  stay. 

"  Have  thy  will,  mercer  !     Choose  thy  men 
Put  off  from  the  storm-rid  shore  : 

God  with  thee  be,  or  I  shall  see 
Thy  face  and  theirs  no  more." 

Winstanley  chose  him  men  and  gear : 
He  said,  "  My  time  I  waste ;  " 

For  the  seas  ran  seething  up  the  shore, 
And  the  wrack  drave  on  in  haste. 

But  twenty  days  he  waited,  and  more, 

Pacing  the  strand  alone, 
Or  ever  he  set  his  manly  foot 

On  the  rock,  —  the  Eddystone. 

Then  he  and  the  sea  began  their  strife, 
And  worked  with  power  and  might : 

Whatever  the  man  reared  up  by  day, 
The  sea  broke  down  by  night. 


WINSTANLEY.  69 

In  fine  weather  and  foul  weather 

The  rock  his  arts  did  flout, 
Through  the  long  days  and  the  short  days, 

Till  all  that  year  ran  out. 

Now  March  was  gone,  came  April  in, 

And  a  sea-fog  settled  down  ; 
And  forth  sailed  he  on  a  glassy  sea,  — 

He  sailed  from  Plymouth  town. 

With  men  and  stores  he  put  to  sea, 

As  he  was  wont  to  do  : 
They  showed  in  the  fog  like  ghosts  full  faint,  — 

A  ghostly  craft  and  crew. 

And  the  sea-fog  lay  and  waxed  alway, 

For  a  long  eight  days,  and  more  : 
"  God  help  our  men  !  "  quoth  the  women  then; 

u  For  they  bide  long  from  shore." 

A  Scottish  schooner  made  the  port, 

The  thirteenth  day,  at  e'en  : 
"As  I  am  a  man,"  the  captain  cried, 

"  A  strange  sight  I  have  seen. 

"  And  a  strange  sound  heard,  my  masters  all, 

At  sea,  in  the  fog  and  the  rain,  — 
Like  shipwrights'  hammers  tapping  low, 

Then  loud,  then  low  again. 

"And  a  stately  house  one  instant  showed 

Through  a  rift  on  the  vessel's  lea : 
What  manner  of  creatures  may  be  those 

That  build  upon  the  sea?" 


70  WINS  TA  NL  E  Y. 

Then  sighed  the  folk,  "The  Lord  be  praised  ! " 
And  they  flocked  to  the  shore  amain  : 

All  over  the  Hoe,  that  livelong  night, 
Many  stood  out  in  the  rain. 

It  ceased ;  and  the  red  sun  reared  his  head, 

And  the  rolling  fog  did  flee ; 
And,  lo  !  in  the  offing  faint  and  far 

Winstanley's  house  at  sea. 

In  fair  weather  with  mirth  and  cheer 

The  stately  tower  uprose  : 
In  foul  weather,  with  hunger  and  cold 

They  were  content  to  close, 

Till  up  the  stair  Win  Stanley  went 

To  fire  the  wick  afar ; 
And  Plymouth  in  the  silent  night 

Looked  out,  and  saw  her  star. 

Winstanley  set  his  foot  ashore  : 

Said  he,  "  My  work  is  done ; 
I  hold  it  strong  to  last  as  long 

As  aught  beneath  the  sun. 

"  But  if  it  fell,  then  this  were  well, 

That  I  should  with  it  fall ; 
Since,  for  my  part,  I  have  built  my  heart 

In  the  courses  of  its  wall. 

"  Ay  !  I  were  fain  long  to  remain, 

Watch  in  my  tower  to  keep, 
And  tend  my  light  in  the  stormiest  night 

That  ever  did  move  the  deep." 


FROM  "PARACELSUS."  71 

With  that  Winstanley  went  his  way, 

And  left  the  rock  renowned ; 
And  summer  and  winter  his  pilot  star 

Hung  bright  o'er  Plymouth  Sound. 

But  it  fell  out,  fell  out  at  last, 

That  he  would  put  to  sea 
To  scan  once  more  his  lighthouse-tower 

On  the  rock  o'  destiny. 

And  the  winds  broke,  and  the  storm  broke, 

And  wrecks  came  plunging  in  : 
None  in  the  town  that  night  lay  down 

Or  sleep  or  rest  to  win. 

And  when  the  dawn,  the  dull  gray  dawn, 

Broke  on  the  trembling  town, 
And  men  looked  south  to  the  harbor-mouth, 

The  lighthouse-tower  was  down,  — 

• 

Down  in  the  deep,  where  he  doth  sleep 

Who  made  it  shine  afar, 
And  then,  in  the  night  that  drowned  its  light, 

Set,  with  his  pilot  star. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


FROM  "PARACELSUS." 

(SONG.) 

OVER  the  sea  our  galleys  went, 
"With  cleaving  prows,  in  order  brave, 
To  a  speeding  wind  and  a  bounding  wave, 
A  gallant  armament : 


72  FROM  "PARACELSUS." 

Each  bark  built  out  of  a  forest-tree, 

Left  leafy  and  rough  as  first  it  grew, 
And  nailed  all  over  the  gaping  sides, 
Within  and  without,  with  black-bull  hides, 
Seethed  in  fat,  and  supplied  in  flame, 
To  bear  the  playful  billows'  game  : 
So  each  good  ship  was  rude  to  see,  — 
Rude  and  bare  to  the  outward  view ; 

But  each  upbore  a  stately  tent, 
Where  cedar- pales  in  scented  row 
Kept  out  the  flakes  of  the  dancing  brine ; 
And  an  awning  drooped  the  mast  below, 
In  fold  on  fold  of  the  purple  fine, 
That  neither  noontide,  nor  star-shine, 
Nor  moonlight  cold,  which  maketh  mad, 

Might  pierce  the  regal  tenement. 
When  the  sun  dawned,  oh  !  gay  and  glad 
We  set  the  sail,  and  plied  the  oar ; 
But,  when  the  night- wind  blew  like  breath, 
For  joy  of  one  day's  voyage  more 
We  sang  together  on  the  wide  sea, 
Like  men  at  peace  on  a  peaceful  shore. 
Each  sail  was  loosed  to  the  wind  so  free, 
Each  helm  made  sure  by  the  twilight  star ; 
And,  in  a  sleep  as  calm  as  death, 
We,  the  strangers  from  afar, 

Lay  stretched  along,  —  each  weary  crew 
In  a  circle  round  its  wondrous  tent, 
Whence  gleamed  soft  light,  and  curled  rich  scent, 

And,  with  light  and  perfume,  music  too  : 
So  the  stars  wheeled  round,  and  the  darkness  past ; 
And  at  morn  we  started  beside  the  mast ; 
And  still  each  ship  was  sailing  fast. 


FROM  "PARACELSUS."  73 

One  morn  the  land  appeared  —  a  speck 
Dim  trembling  betwixt  sea  and  sky  : 
"Avoid  it,"  cried  our  pilot,  "check 

The  shout,  restrain  the  longing  eye  !  " 
But  the  heaving  sea  was  black  behind 
For  many  a  night  and  many  a  day, 
And  land,  though  but  a  rock,  drew  nigh : 
So  we  broke  the  cedar-pales  away, 
Let  the  purple  awning  flap  in  the  wind, 

And  a  statue  bright  was  on  every  deck. 
We  shouted,  every  man  of  us, 
And  steered  right  into  the  harbor  thus, 
With  pomp  and  paean  glorious. 

An  hundred  shapes  of  lucid  stone  ! 

All  day  we  built  a  shrine  for  each,  — 
A  shrine  of  rock  for  every  one  ; 
Nor  paused  we,  till  in  the  westering  sun 

We  sate  together  on  the  beach 
To  sing,  because  our  task  was  done ; 
When,  lo  !  what  shouts  and  merry  songs  ! 
What  laughter  all  the  distance  stirs  ! 
What  raft  comes  loaded  with  its  throngs 
Of  gentle  islanders? 
"  The  isles  are  just  at  hand,"  they  cried  : 

"  Like  cloudlets,  faint  at  even  sleeping, 
Our  temple-gates  are  opened  wide, 

Our  olive-groves  thick  shade  are  keeping 
For  the  lucid  shapes  you  bring,"  they  cried. 
Oh  !  then  we  awoke  with  sudden  start 
From  our  deep  dream  :  we  knew,  too  late, 
How  bare  the  rock,  how  desolate, 
To  which  we  had  flung  our  precious  freight : 


74  LARS'  SONG. 

Yet  we  called  out,  "  Depart ! 
Our  gifts,  once  given,  must  here  abide ; 

Our  work  is  done  :  we  .have  no  heart 
To  mar  our  work,  though  vain,"  we  cried. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 


LARS'  SONG. 

(FROM  "  ERIC  ;  OR,  THE  FALL  OF  A  CROWN.") 

• 

ON  the  white  sea-sand, 
By  the  side  of  the  land, 
I  wandered  and  sang, 
With  my  harp  in  my  hand. 

I  sang  of  the  sea 
With  its  mystery ; 

Of  the  ships  which  pass 
Unmindful  of  me. 

But  a  bird  drew  near,  — 
A  bird  so  dear, 

White-winged  and  fearless, 
And  sang  in  my  ear. 

"  O  singer  !  wait 
For  thy  coming  fate, 

Which  riseth  to  meet  thee 
With  sails  elate. 

"  From  hope's  eclipse, 
From  voiceless  lips, 

There  is  sent  thee  one 
Of  love's  sweet  ships. 


LARS'   SONG.  — Page  74. 


FROM  "BROTHERS  AND  A   SERMON."         75 

"  Already  the  light 
Of  a  morning  bright, 

At  the  rim  of  the  world, 
Shows  a  sail  so  white  !  " 

And  now  will  I  stand 
With  my  harp  in  my  hand, 

And  sing  to  my  ship 
Till  she  comes  to  land. 

SAMUEL  WILLOUGHBY  DOFFIELD. 


FROM  "BROTHERS  AND  A  SERMON." 

"  TTE'S  a  rare  man, 

XI  Our  parson  ;  half  a  head  above  us  all." 
"That's  a  rare  gift,  and  notable,"  said  I. 

"  Ay,  sir ;  and  when  he  was  a  younger  man 

He  went  out  in  the  lifeboat  very  oft, 

Before  '  The  Grace  of  Sunderland '  was  wrecked. 

He's  never  been  his  own  man  since  that  hour ; 

For  there  were  thirty  men  aboard  of  her, 

A-nigh  as  close  as  you  are  now  to  me, 

And  ne'er  a  one  was  saved. 

They're  lying  now, 

With  two  small  children,  in  a  row.     The  church 
And  yard  are  full  of  seamen's  graves,  and  few 
Have  any  names. 

"  She  bumped  upon  the  reef  : 
Our  parson,  my  young  son,  and  several  more, 
Were  lashed  together  with  a  two-inch  rope, 


76         FROM  "BROTHERS  AND   A   SERMON." 

And  crept  along  to  her,  their  mates  ashore 
Ready  to  haul  them  in.     The  gale  was  high ; 
The  sea  \vas  all  a  boiling,  seething  froth ; 
And  God  Almighty's  guns  were  going  off, 
And  the  land  trembled. 

"  When  she  took  the  ground, 
She  went  to  pieces  like  a  lock  of  hay 
Tossed  from  a  pitchfork.     Ere  it  came  to  that, 
The  captain  reeled  on  deck  with  two  small  things, 
One  in  each  arm,  —  his  little  lad  and  lass. 
Their  hair  was  long,  and  blew  before  his  face, 
Or  else  we  thought  he  had  been  saved  :  he  fell, 
But  held  them  fast.     The  crew,  poor  luckless  souls  !  — 
The  breakers  licked  them  off;  and  some  were  crushed, 
Some  swallowed  in  the  yeast,  some  flung  up  dead, 
The  dear  breath  beaten  out  of  them  :  not  one 
Jumped  from  the  wreck  upon  the  reef  to  catch 
The  hands  that  strained  to  reach,  but  tumbled  back 
With  eyes  wide  open.     But  the  captain  lay 
And  clung  —  the  only  man  alive.     They  prayed, 
'  For  God's  sake,  captain,  throw  the  children  here  ! ' 
1  Throw  them  ! '  our  parson  cried ;  and  then  she  struck. 
And  he  threw  one,  a  pretty  two-years'  child ; 
But  the  gale  dashed  him  on  the  slippery  verge, 
And  down  he  went.     They  say  they  heard  him  cry. 

"  Then  he  rose  up  and  took  the  other  one ; 

And  all  our  men  reached  out  their  hungry  arms, 

And  cried  out,  '  Throw  her,  throw  her  ! '     And  he  did. 

He  threw  her  right  against  the  parson's  breast ; 

An4  all  at  once  a  sea  broke  over  them  ; 

And  they  that  saw  it  from  the  shore  have  said 


TO  A   SEA-BIRD.  77 

It  struck  the  wreck,  and  piecemeal  scattered  it, 
Just  as  a  woman  might  the  lump  of  salt 
That  'twixt  her  hands  into  the  kneading-pan 
She  breaks,  and  crumbles  on  her  rising  bread. 

"  We  hauled  our  men  in.     Two  of  them  were  dead  — 
The  sea  had  beaten  them,  their  heads  hung  down. 
Our  parson's  arms  were  empty,  for  the  wave 
Had  torn  away  the  pretty,  pretty  lamb : 
We  often  see  him  stand  beside  her  grave ; 
But  'twas  no  fault  of  his,  no  fault  of  his." 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


TO    A    SEA-BIRD. 

QAUNTERING  hither  on  listless  wings, 
O  Careless  vagabond  of  the  sea, 
Little  thou  heedest  the  surf  that  sings, 
The  bar  that  thunders,  the  shale  that  rings  — 
Give  me  to  keep  thy  company. 

Little  thou  hast,  old  friend,  that's  new ; 

Storms  and  wrecks  are  old  things  to  thee : 
Sick  am  I  of  these  changes  too ; 
Little  to  care  for,  little  to  rue,  — 

I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea. 

All  of  thy  wanderings,  far  and  near, 

Bring  thee  at  last  to  shore  and  me ; 
All  of  my  journeyings  end  them  here  : 
This  our  tether  must  be  our  cheer,  — 
I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea. 


78  THE   "  THREE  BELLS." 

Lazily  rocking  on  ocean's  breast, 

Something  in  common,  old  friend,  have  we : 
Thou  on  the  shingle  seekest  thy  nest, 
I  to  the  waters  look  for  rest,  — 

I  on  the  shore,  and  thou  on  the  sea. 

FRANCIS  BRET  HARTE. 


THE    "THREE    BELLS." 

TJENEATH  the  low-hung  night-cloud 
J3  That  raked  her  splintering  mast 
The  good  ship  settled  slowly, 
The  cruel  leak  gained  fast. 

Over  the  awful  ocean 

Her  signal-guns  pealed  out. 

Dear  God  !  was  that  thy  answer 
From  the  horror  round  about? 

A  voice  came  down  the  wild  wind, 
"  Ho  !  ship  ahoy  !  "  its  cry  : 

"  Our  stout  '  Three  Bells  '  of  Glasgow 
Shall  lay  till  daylight  by." 

Hour  after  hour  crept  slowly ; 

Yet  on  the  heaving  swells 
Tossed  up  and  down  the  ship-lights,  — 

The  lights  of  the  "  Three  Bells." 

And  ship  to  ship  made  signals ; 

Man  answered  back  to  man  ; 
While  oft,  to  cheer  and  hearten, 

The  "Three  Bells  "  nearer  ran. 


THE    THREE  FISHERS.  79 

And  the  captain  from  her  taffrail 

Sent  down  his  hopeful  cry. 
"Take  heart !     Hold  on  !  "  he  shouted  : 

"The  'Three  Bells '  shall  lay  by." 

All  night  across  the  waters 

The  tossing  lights  shone  clear ; 
All  night  from  reeling  taffrail 

The  "Three  Bells  "  sent  her  cheer. 

And  when  the  dreary  watches 

Of  storm  and  darkness  passed, 
Just  as  the  wreck  lurched  under, 

All  souls  were  saved  at  last. 

Sail  on,  "  Three  Bells,"  forever,  — 

In  grateful  memory  sail ! 
Ring  on,  "  Three  Bells  "  of  rescue, 

Above  the  wave  and  gale  ! 

Type  of  the  love  eternal, 

Repeat  the  Master's  cry, 
As  tossing  through  our  darkness 

The  lights  of  God  draw  nigh. 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 


THE    THREE    FISHERS. 

THREE  fishers  went  sailing  down  to  the  west, 
Away  to  the  west  as  the  sun  went  down  : 
Each  thought  of  the  woman  who  loved  him  the  best ; 
And  the  children  stood  watching  them  out  of  the  town  : 


80  WIND  AND  SEA. 

For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 
And  there's  little  to  earn,  and  many  to  keep, 
Though  the  harbor-bar  be  moaning. 

Three  wives  sat  up  in  the  lighthouse-tower, 

And  they  trimmed  the  lamps  as  the  sun  went  down ; 
And  they  looked  at  the  squall,  and  they  looked  at  the 

shower, 

While  the  night-rack  came  rolling  up  ragged  and  brown  : 
But  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 
Though  storms  be  sudden,  and  waters  deep, 
And  the  harbor-bar  be  moaning. 

Three  corpses  lie  out  on  the  shining  sands, 

In  the  morning  gleam  as  the  tide  went  down ; 
And  the  women  are  weeping,  and  wringing  their  hands, 
For  those  who  will  never  come  home  to  the  town : 
For  men  must  work,  and  women  must  weep, 
And  the  sooner  it's  over,  the  sooner  to  sleep, 
And  good-by  to  the  bar  and  its  moaning. 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 


WIND    AND    SEA. 

r  I AHE  sea  is  a  jovial  comrade  ; 
_1    He  laughs  wherever  he  goes  ; 
His  merriment  shines  in  the  dimpling  lines 
That  wrinkle  his  hale  repose  ; 
He  lays  himself  down  at  the  feet  of  the  sun, 
And  shakes  all  over  with  glee  ; 
And  the  broad-backed  billows  fall  faint  on  the  shore 
In  the  mirth  of  the  mighty  sea. 


OH,  HAD    WE  SOME  BRIGHT  LITTLE  ISLE!      Si 

But  the  wind  is  sad  and  restless, 

And  cursed  with  an  inward  pain  : 

You  may  hark  as  you  will,  by  valley  or  hill, 

But  you  hear  him  still  complain. 

He  wails  on  the  barren  mountains, 

And  shrieks  on  the  watery  sea ; 

He  sobs  in  the  cedar,  and  moans  in  the  pine, 

And  shudders  all  over  the  aspen-tree. 

Welcome  are  both  their  voices ; 

And  I  know  not  which  is  best,  — 

The  laughter  that  slips  from  the  ocean's  lips, 

Or  the  comfortless  wind's  unrest. 

There's  a  pang  in  all  rejoicing, 

A  joy  in  the  heart  of  pain  ; 

And  the  wind  that  saddens,  the  sea  that  gladdens, 

Are  singing  the  selfsame  strain. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


OH,  HAD  WE   SOME   BRIGHT   LITTLE   ISLE   OF   OUR 

OWN! 


OH,  had  we  some  bright  little  isle  of  our  own, 
In  a  blue  summer  ocean  far  off  and  alone, 
Where  a  leaf  never  dies  in  the  still  blooming  bowers, 
And  the  bee  banquets  on  through  a  whole  year  of  flowers ; 
Where  the  sun  loves  to  pause 

With  so  fond  a  delay 
That  the  night  only  draws 
A  thin  veil  o'er  the  day ; 

Where  simply  to  feel  that  we  breathe,  that  we  live, 
Is  worth  the  best  joy  that  life  elsewhere  can  give  ! 


82  OUT  OF  SIGHT  OF  LAND. 

There,  with  souls  ever  ardent  and  pure  as  the  clime, 
We  should  love  as  they  loved  in  the  first  golden  time  : 
The  glow  of  the  sunshine,  the  balm  of  the  air, 
Would  steal  to  our  hearts,  and  make  all  summer  there. 

With  affection  as  free 

From  decline  as  the  bowers, 

And  with  hope,  like  the  bee, 
Living  always  on  flowers, 
Our  life  should  resemble  a  long  day  of  light, 
And  our  death  come  on  holy  and  calm  as  the  night. 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


w 


OUT   OP   SIGHT   OF  LAND. 


E  are  at  sea,  at  sea,  at  sea, 
Still  floating  onward  dreamily. 


The  isles  and  capes  fall  far  behind, 
Blown  backward  by  the  salty  wind. 

The  sky  her  sapphire  chalice  turns 
Upon  the  deep,  which  gleams  and  burns 

With  sunlight :  in  the  midst  we  ride, 
A  fleck  upon  the  sheeny  tide. 

Millions  of  sparkles  leap  and  dance 
Above  the  blinding,  blue  expanse ; 

And  on  the  round  horizon-rim 

The  ghosts  of  vessels  dawn  and  dim. 


OUT  OF  SIGHT  OF  LAND.  83 

Beneath  our  bended  glances  break 
The  splendors  of  the  restless  wake. 

We  watch  the  iris-shedding  wheel ; 
We  hear  the  swift  melodious  keel, 

And  wonder,  when  with  placid  eye 
Some  strange  sea- monarch  plunges  by 

Between  his  marshalled  waves,  that  smile, 
And  doff  their  white-plumed  caps  the  while. 

ii. 

We  are  at  sea,  at  sea,  at  sea, 
Still  floating  onward  dreamily. 

What  is  this  marvel  that  is  wrought 
Within  our  silent  haunts  of  thought? 

We  hail  no  ships  of  roseate  shells ; 
We  catch  no  mermaid's  bridal  bells ; 

No  siren's  song  with  yearning  stirs 
The  souls  of  drifting  mariners. 

The  world,  alas  !  hath  waxed  too  wise 
To  trust  her  cradle  lullabies, 

And  nevermore  her  feet  may  stand 
In  moonlight  glades  of  fairyland. 

Yet  on  the  main  whose  gray  heart  beat 
Beneath  the  westward-sailing  fleet 


84  THE  JUMBLIES. 

That  bore  Columbus,  'neath  the  sun 
That  shone  on  builded  Babylon, 

Ourselves  unto  ourselves  grow  strange, 
Made  conscious  of  our  mortal  change. 

We  are  the  dream,  and  only  we, 
'Twixt  the  enduring  sky  and  sea. 

KATHARINE  LEE  BATES. 


THE    JUMBLIES. 
I. 

THEY  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve,  they  did ; 
In  a  sieve  they  went  to  sea  : 
In  spite  of  all  their  friends  could  say* 
On  a  winter's  morn,  on  a  stormy  day, 

In  a  sieve  they  went  to  sea. 
And  when  the  sieve  turned  round  and  round, 
And  every  one  cried,  "  You'll  all  be  drowned  ! " 
They  called  aloud,  "  Our  sieve  ain't  big : 
But  we  don't  care  a  button ;  we  don't  care  a  fig ; 
In  a  sieve  we'll  go  to  sea  !  " 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live  : 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

ii. 
They  sailed  away  in  a  sieve,  they  did ; 

In  a  sieve  they  sailed  so  fast, 
With  only  a  beautiful  pea-green  veil, 
Tied  with  a  ribbon,  by  way  of  a  sail, 

To  a  small  tobacco-pipe  mast. 


THE  JUMBLIES.  8, 

And  every  one  said,  who  saw  them  go : 
"  Oh  !  won't  they  be  soon  upset,  you  know  : 
For  the  sky  is  dark,  and  the  voyage  is  long ; 
And,  happen  what  may,  it's  extremely  wrong 
In  a  sieve  to  sail  so  fast." 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live  : 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

in. 

The  water  it  soon  came  in,  it  did ; 

The  water  it  soon  came  in : 
So,  to  keep  them  dry,  they  wrapped  their  feet 
In  a  pinky  paper,  all  folded  neat ; 

And  they  fastened  it  down  with  a  pin. 
And  they  passed  the  night  in  a  crockery-jar, 
And  each  of  them  said,  "  How  wise  we  are  ! 
Though  the  sky  be  dark,  and  the  voyage  be  long, 
Yet  we  never  can  think  we  were  rash  or  wrong, 
While  round  in  our  sieve  we  spin." 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live : 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

IV. 

And  all  night  long  they  sailed  away ; 

And,  when  the  sun  went  down, 
They  whistled  and  warbled  a  moony  song 
To  the  echoing  sound  of  a  coppery  gong, 

In  the  shade  of  the  mountains  brown. 


86  THE  JU MB  LIES. 

"  O  Timballoo  !     How  happy  we  are, 
When  we  live  in  a  sieve  and  crockery-jar ! 
And  all  night  long,  in  the  moonlight  pale, 
We  sail  away,  with  a  pea-green  sail, 

In  the  shade  of  the  mountains  brown." 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live  : 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 


v. 

They  sailed  to  the  Western  Sea,  they  did,  — 

To  a  land  all  covered  with  trees  : 
And  they  bought  an  owl,  and  a  useful  cart, 
And  a  pound  of  rice,  and  a  cranberry-tart, 

And  a  hive  of  silvery  bees ; 

And  they  bought  a  pig,  and  some  green  jackdaws, 
And  a  lovely  monkey  with  lollipop  paws, 
And  forty  bottles  of  ring-bo-ree, 
And  no  end  of  Stilton  cheese. 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live : 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 


VI. 

And  in  twenty  years  they  all  came  back,  — 

In  twenty  years  or  more  ; 
And  every  one  said,  "  How  tall  they've  grown  ! 
For  they've  been  to  the  Lakes  and  the  Terrible  Zone, 

And  the  hills  of  the  Chankly  Bore." 


THE   CHILD  AND    THE  SEA.  87 

And  they  drank  their  health,  and  gave  them  a  feast 
Of. dumplings  made  of  beautiful  yeast; 
And  every  one  said,  "  If  we  only  live, 
We,  too,  will  go  to  sea  in  a  sieve, 

To  the  hills  of  the  Chankly  Bore." 
Far  and  few,  far  and  few, 

Are  the  lands  where  the  Jumblies  live  : 
Their  heads  are  green,  and  their  hands  are  blue ; 
And  they  went  to  sea  in  a  sieve. 

EDWARD  LEAR,  from  "  Nonsense  Songs'' 


THE    CHILD    AND    THE    SEA. 

ONE  summer  day,  when  birds  flew  high, 
I  saw  a  child  step  into  the  sea : 
It  glowed  and  sparkled  at  her  touch, 
And  softly  plashed  about  her  knee. 

It  held  her  lightly  with  its  strength ; 

It  kissed  and  kissed  her  silken  hair ; 
It  heaved  with  tenderness  to  know 

A  little  child  was  in  its  care. 

She,  gleeful,  dipped  her  pretty  arms, 
And  caught  the  sparkles  in  her  hands : 

I  heard  her  laughter  as  she  soon 
Came  skipping  up  the  sunny  sands. 

"Is  this  the  cruel  sea?"  I  thought, — 
"  The  merciless,  the  awful  sea  ?  " 

Now  hear  the  answer,  soft  and  true, 
That  rippled  over  the  beach  to  me. 


88  RE  VERY. 

"Shall  not  the  sea  in  the  sun  be  glad 
When  a  child  doth  come  to  play? 

Had  it  been  in  storm-time,  what  could  I, 
The  sea,  but  bear  her  away,  — 

Bear  her  away  on  my  foaming  crest, 

Toss  her,  and  hurry  her  to  her  rest. 

"  Be  it  life  or  death,  God  ruleth  me ; 

And  he  loveth  every  soul : 
I've  an  earthly  shore  and  a  heavenly  shore, 

And  toward  them  both  I  roll ; 
Shining  and  beautiful  both  are  they, 
And  a  little  child  will  go  God's  way." 

MARY  MAPES  DODGE. 
REVERT. 

THE  white  reflection  of  the  sloop's  great  sail 
Sleeps  trembling  on  the  tide  : 
In  scarlet  trim  her  crew  lean  o'er  the  rail, 
Lounging  on  either  side. 

Pale  blue,  and  streaked  with  pearl,  the  waters  lie, 

And  glitter  in  the  heat : 
The  distance  gathers  purple  bloom  where  sky 

And  glimmering  coast-line  meet. 

From  the  cove's  curving  rim  of  sandy  gray 

The  ebbing  tide  has  drained, 
Where,  mournful,  in  the  dusk  of  yesterday, 

The  curlew's  voice  complained. 

Half  lost  in  hot  mirage,  the  sails  afar 
Lie  dreaming,  still  and  white  ; 


•  The  whits  reflection  of  the  sloop's  great  sail 
Sleeps  trembling  on  the  tide."  —  Page  88. 


RE  VERY.  89 

No  wave  breaks,  no  wind  breathes,  the  peace  to  mar : 
Summer  is  at  its  height. 

How  many  thousand  summers  thus  have  shone 

Across  the  ocean  waste, 
Passing  in  swift  succession,  one  by  one, 

By  the  fierce  winter  chased  ! 

The  gray  rocks,  blushing  soft  at  dawn  and  eve, 

The  green  leaves  at  their  feet, 
The  dreaming  sails,  the  crying  birds  that  grieve, 

Ever  themselves  repeat. 

And  yet  how  dear,  and  how  forever  fair, 

Is  Nature's  friendly  face  ! 
And  how  forever  new  and  sweet  and  rare 

Each  old  familiar  grace  ! 

What  matters  it  that  she  will  sing  and  smile 

When  we  are  dead  and  still  ? 
Let  us  be  happy  in  her  beauty  while 

Our  hearts  have  power  to  thrill. 

Let  us  rejoice  in  every  moment  bright, 

Grateful  that  it  is  ours  ; 
Bask  in  her  smiles  with  ever  fresh  delight, 

And  gather  all  her  flowers ; 

For  presently  we  part :  what  will  avail 

Her  rosy  fires  of  dawn, 
Her  noontide  pomps,  to  us  who  fade  and  fail, 

Our  hands  from  hers  withdrawn  ? 

CELIA  THAXTER. 


90  HEAVING    THE  LEAD. 

HEAVING    THE    LEAD. 

England,  when  with  favoring  gale 
Our  gallant  ship  up  channel  steered, 
And,  scudding  under  easy  sail, 

The  high,  blue  western  land  appeared, " 
To  heave  the  lead  the  seaman  sprung, 
And  to  the  pilot  cheerly  sung, 

"  By  the  deep,  nine  !  " 

But,  bearing  up  to  gain  the  port, 

Some  well-known  object  kept  in  view,  — 

An  abbey,  tower,  an  harbor,  fort, 
Or  beacon  to  the  vessel  true ; 

While  oft  the  lead  the  seaman  flung, 

And  to  the  pilot  cheerly  sung, 

"  By  the  mark,  seven  !  " 

And,  as  the  much-loved  shore  we  near, 
With  transport  we  behold  the  roof 

Where  dwells  a  friend  or  partner  dear, 
Of  faith  and  love  a  matchless  proof. 

Once  more  the  lead  the  seaman  flung, 

And  to  the  watchful  pilot  sung, 
"  Quarter  less  five  !  " 

Now  to  her  berth  the  ship  draws  nigh ; 

We  take  in  sail  —  she  feels  the  tide  : 
"  Stand  clear  the  cable  !  "  is  the  cry ; 

The  anchor's  gone  !  we  safely  ride. 
The  watch  is  set,  and  through  the  night 
We  hear  the  seaman  with  delight 

Proclaim,  "All's  well!" 

WILLIAM  PEARCE. 


THE  MASTER   OF  WE  EM  VS. 


MY    SHIP    COMES    IN. 

MY  ship  comes  sailing  in  from  sea, 
And  I  am  glad  as  glad  can  be. 
Oh  !  I  have  kissed  my  love  to-night, 
And  all  life  seems  one  calm  delight. 

My  ship  comes  in,  my  ship  comes  in ; 
My  ship  comes  sailing  up  the  sea, 
And  life  is  like  a  dream  to  me. 

The  stars  look  larger  than  before ; 

The  moon  is  silver  now.     The  door 

Of  paradise  seems  open  wide 

As  yon  church-door  for  my  fair  bride. 

My  ship  comes  in,  my  ship  comes  in ; 
My  ship  comes  climbing  up  the  sea, 
And  land  and  sea  are  fair  to  me. 

I  know  full  well  in  my  ship's  hold 

Lie  neither  gorgeous  silks  nor  gold  ; 

But  oh  !  I  know  my  love  loves  me, 

And  ask  no  more  of  land  or  sea. 

My  ship  comes  in,  my  ship  comes  in ; 
My  ship  has  crossed  the  lonesome  sea, 
And  I  am  glad  as  glad  can  be. 

JOAQUIN  MILLER. 


THE   MASTER   OF   WEEMYS. 

THE  master  of  Weemys  has  biggit  a  ship 
To  saile  upon  the  sea ; 
And  four  and  twenty  bauld  marineres 
Doe  beare  him  companie. 


92  THE  MASTER  OF  WEEMYS. 

They  have  hoistit  sayle  and  left  the  land ; 

They  have  saylit  mylis  three  ; 
When  up  there  lap  the  bonnie  mermayd, 

All  in  the  Norland  Sea. 

"  Oh,  whare  saile  ye,"  quo'  the  bonnie  mermayd, 

"  Upon  the  saut  sea  faem  ?  " 
"  It's  we  are  bound  until  Norroway  : 

God  send  us  skaithless  hame  ! " 

"  Oh,  Norroway  is  a  gay,  gay  strande, 

And  a  merrie  lande,  I  trowe  ; 
But  never  nane  shall  see  Norroway 

Gin  the  mermayd  keeps  her  vowe  !  " 

Down  doukit  then  the  mermayden 

Deep  intil  the  middle  sea ; 
And  merrie  leuch  that  master  bauld, 

With  his  jollie  companie. 

They  saylit  awa',  an'  they  saylit  awa', 

They  have  saylit  leagues  ten  ; 
When,  lo  !  uplap  by  the  gude  ship's  side 

The  selfsame  mermayden. 

Shee  held  a  glass  intil  her  richt  hande, 

In  the  uthir  shee  held  a  kame ; 
And  shee  kembit  her  haire,  and  aye  she  sang, 

As  she  flotterit  on  the  faem. 

And  she  gliskit  round  and  round  about 

Upon  the  waters  wan  ; 
Oh  !  nevir  againe  upon  land  or  sea 

Shall  be  seen  sic  a  faire  woman. 


THE  MASTER   OF   WEEMYS.  93 

And  shee  shed  her  haire  att  her  milk-white  bree 

Wi'  her  fingers  sae  sma'  and  lang ; 
And  fast  as  saylit  that  gude  ship  on, 

Sae  louder  was  aye  her  sang. 

And  aye  shee  sang,  and  aye  shee  sang, 

As  she  rade  upon  the  sea : 
"  If  ye  bee  men  of  Christian  moulde, 

Throwe  the  master  out  to  mee. 

"  Throwe  out  to  mee  the  master, 

If  ye  bee  Christian  men  ; 
But  an  ye  faile,  though  fast  ye  sayle, 

Ye '11  nevjr  see  land  agen  ! 

"  Sayle  on,  sayle  on,  sayle  on,"  said  shee, 

"  Sayle  on,  and  nevir  blinne  : 
The  winde  at  will  your  saylis  may  fill ; 

But  the  land  ye  shall  nevir  win  ! " 

It's  nevir  word  spak'  that  master  bauld, 

But  a  loud  laugh  leuch  the  crewe ; 
And  in  the  deep  then  the  mermayden 

Down  drappit  frae  their  viewe. 

But  ilk  ane  hythit  her  bonnie  face, 

How  dark,  dark  grew  its  lire  ; 
And  ilk  ane  saw  her  bricht,  bricht  eyne 

Leming  r  like  coals  of  fire. 

And  ilk  ane  saw  her  lang  bricht  haire 

Gae  flashing  through  the  tide, 
And  the  sparkles  o'  the  glass  she  brake 

Upon  that  gude  ship's  side. 

1  Saw,  discovered. 


94  THE  MASTER   OF  IVEEMYS. 

"  Steer  on,  steer  on,  thou  master  bauld ; 

The  wind  blaws  unco'  hie." 
"  Oh,  there's  not  a  sterne  in  a'  the  lift 

To  guide  us  through  the  sea  !  " 

"  Steer  on,  steer  on,  thou  master  bauld ; 

The  storm  is  coming  fast." 
"  Then  up,  then  up,  my  bonnie  boy, 

Unto  the  topmost  mast. 

"  Creep  up  into  the  tallest  mast ; 

Gae  up,  my  ae  best  man  ; 
Climb  up  until  the  tall  topmast, 

And  spy  gin  ye  see  land." 

"  Oh,  all  is  mirk  towards  the  eist, 

And  all  is  mirk  be  west : 
Alas  !  there  is  not  a  spot  of  light 

Where  any  eye  can  rest." 

"  Looke  oute,  looke  oute,  my  bauldest  man, 

Looke  out  unto  the  storme  ; 
And,  if  ye  cannot  get  sicht  o'  land, 

Do  ye  see  the  dawin  o'  morn  ?  " 

"  Oh,  alace,  alace  !  my  master  deare," 

Spak'  then  that  ae  best  man, 
"  Nor  light,  nor  land,  nor  living  thing, 

Do  I  spy  on  any  hand." 

"  Looke  yet  againe,  my  ae  best  man, 
And  tell  me  what  do  ye  see." 

"  O  Lord  !  I  spy  the  fause  mermayden 
Fast  say  ling  out  owre  the  sea." 


THE  BOY  AT  THE  NO  RE.  95 

"  How  can  ye  spy  the  fause  mermayden 

Fast  sayling  on  the  mirk  sea  ? 
For  there's  neither  mime,  nor  mornin'  licht  — 

In  troth  it  can  nevir  bee." 

"  Oh,  there  is  neither  mime  nor  mornin'  licht, 

Nor  ae  star's  blink  on  the  sea ; 
But,  as  I  am  a  Christian  man, 

That  witch-woman  I  see  ! 

"  Good  Lord  !  there  is  a  scaud  o'  fire 

Fast  coming  out  ovvre  the  sea ; 
And  fast  therein  the  grim  mermayden 

Is  sayling  on  to  thee. 

"  She  hailes  our  ship  wi'  a  shrill,  shrill  cry  — 
Shee  is  coming,  alace  !  more  near." 

"  Ah,  wae  is  me  now  ! "  said  the  master  bauld, 
"  For  I  both  do  see  and  hear. 

"  Come  down,  come  down,  my  ae  best  man, 

For  an  ill  weird  I  maun  drie ; 
Yet  I  reck  not  for  my  sinful  self, 
But  thou  my  trew  companie  !  " 

WILLIAM  MOTHERWELL. 


THE    BOY    AT    THE    NOBE. 

I  SAY,  little  boy  at  the  Nore, 
Do  you  come  from  the  small  Isle  of  Man? 
Why,  your  history  a  mystery  must  be  : 
Come,  tell  us  as  much  as  you  can, 
Little  boy  at  the  Nore. 


96  THE  BOY  AT  THE  NO  RE. 

You  live,  it  seems,  wholly  on  water, 
Which  your  Gambier  calls  living  in  clover; 
But  how  comes  it,  if  that  is  the  case, 
You're  eternally  half-seas  over, 

Little  boy  at  the  Nore? 

While  you  ride,  while  you  dance,  while  you  float 
Never  mind  your  imperfect  orthography, 
But  give  us  as  well  as  you  can 
Your  watery  autobiography, 

Little  boy  at  the  Nore. 

BOY  AT  THE  NORE  LOQUITUR. 

I'm  the  tight  little  boy  at  the  Nore ; 
In  a  sort  of  sea-negus  I  dwells  ; 
Half  and  half  'twixt  salt  water  and  Port, 
I'm  reckoned  the  first  of  the  swells  — 
I'm  the  boy  at  the  Nore  ! 

I  lives  with  my  toes  to  the  flounders, 
And  watches  through  long  days  and  nights ; 
Yet,  cruelly  eager,  men  look 
To  catch  the  first  glimpse  of  my  lights  — 
I'm  the  boy  at  the  Nore  ! 

I  never  gets  cold  in  my  head, 
So  my  life  on  salt  water  is  sweet : 
I  think  I  owes  much  of  my  health 
To  being  well  used  to  wet  feet  — 

As  the  boy  at  the  Nore  ! 

There's  one  thing  :  I'm  never  in  debt ; 
Nay !  I  liquidates  more  than  I  oughter : 


THE  BOY  AT  THE  NORE.  97 

So  the  man  to  beat  cits  as  goes  by, 
In  keeping  the  head  above  water, 

Is  the  boy  at  the  Nore  ! 

I've  seen  a  good  deal  of  distress, 
Lots  of  breakers  in  Ocean's  Gazette  : 
They  should  do  as  I  do,  —  rise  o'er  all ; 
Ay,  a  good,  floating  capital  get, 

Like  the  boy  at  the  Nore  ! 

I'm  a'ter  the  sailor's  own  heart, 
And  cheers  him,  in  deep  water  rolling ; 
And  the  friend  of  all  friends  to  Jack  Junk, 
Ben  Backstay,  Tom  Pipes,  and  Tom  Bowling, 
Is  the  boy  at  the  Nore  ! 

Could  I  e'er  but  grow  up,  I'd  be  off 
For  a  week  to  make  love  with  my  wheedles : 
If  the  tight  little  boy  at  the  Nore 
Could  but  catch  a  nice  girl  at  the  Needles, 
We'd  have  two  at  the  Nore ! 

They  thinks  little  of  sizes  on  water, 
On  big  waves  the  tiny  one  skulks : 
While  the  river  has  men-of-war  on  it, 
Yes  —  the  Thames  is  oppressed  with  great  hulks, 
And  the  boy's  at  the  Nore  ! 

But  I've  done,  for  the  water  is  heaving 
Round  my  body,  as  though  it  would  sink  it ; 
And  I've  been  so  long  pitching  and  tossing, 
That  sea-sick -7- you'd  hardly  now  think  it  — 
Is  the  boy  at  the  Nore  ! 

THOMAS  HOOD. 


98  LISTENING    TO  MUSIC. 

LISTENING    TO    MUSIC. 

WHEN  on  that  joyful  sea 
Where  billow  on  billow  breaks ;  where  swift  waves 
follow 

Waves,  and  hollow  calls  to  hollow ; 
Where  sea-birds  swirl  and  swing, 
And  winds  through  the  rigging  shrill  and  sing ; 
Where  night  is  night  without  a  shade ; 
Where  thy  soul,  not  afraid, 
Though  all  alone  unlonely, 
Wanders  and  wavers,  wavers  wandering,  — 
On  that  accursed  sea, 
One  moment  only, 

Forget  one  moment,  Love,  thy  fierce  content ; 
Back  let  thy  soul  be  bent  — 
Think  back,  dear  Love,  O  Love  think  back  to  me  ! 

RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER. 


BECALMED    AT    SEA. 

AS  ships  becalmed  at  eve,  that  lay, 
With  canvas  drooping,  side  by  side, 
Two  towers  of  sail,  at  dawn  of  day 

Are  scarce,  long  leagues  apart,  descried  ; 

When  fell  the  night,  up  sprung  the  breeze, 
And  all  the  darkling  hours  they  plied  ; 

Nor  dreamt  but  each  the  selfsame  seas 
By  each  was  cleaving,  side  by  side. 

E'en  so  —  but  why  the  tale  reveal 

Of  those  whom,  year  by  year  unchanged, 


LITTLE  BILLEE.  99 

Brief  absence  joined  anew,  to  feel, 
Astounded,  soul  from  soul  estranged. 

At  dead  of  night  their  sails  were  filled, 
And  onward  each  rejoicing  steered  : 

Ah  !  neither  blame,  for  neither  willed 
Or  wist  what  first  with  dawn  appeared. 

To  veer,  how  vain  !     On,  onward  strain, 
Brave  barks  !  —  in  light,  in  darkness  too  ! 

Through  winds  and  tides  one  compass  guides : 
To  that  and  your  own  selves  be  true. 

But  O  blithe  breeze  !  and  O  great  seas  ! 

Though  ne'er,  that  earliest  parting  past, 
On  your  wide  plain  they  join  again, 

Together  lead  them  home  at  last. 

One  port,  methought,  alike  they  sought, 
One  purpose  hold  where'er  they  fare ; 

O  bounding  breeze  !  O  rushing  seas  ! 
At  last,  at  last,  unite  them  there  ! 

ARTHUR  HUGH  CLOUGH. 

LITTLE    BILLEE. 

THERE  were  three  sailors  of  Bristol  City, 
Who  took  a  boat  and  went  to  sea  ; 
But  first  with  beef,  and  captain's  biscuits, 
And  pickled  pork,  they  loade*d  she. 

There  was  gorging  Jack,  and  guzzling  Jimmy, 

And  the  youngest  he  was  little  Billee  : 
Now,  when  they  got  as  far  as  the  equator, 

They'd  nothing  left  but  one  split  pea. 


100  LITTLE  BILLEE. 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 

"  I  am  extremely  hungaree." 
To  gorging  Jack  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 

"  We've  nothing  left :  us  must  eat  we." 

Says  gorging  Jack  to  guzzling  Jimmy, 

••'  With  one  another  we  shouldn't  agree  : 
There's  little  Bill,  he's  young  and  tender, 
We're  old  and  tough  :  so  let's  eat  he. 

"  O  Billy  !  we're  going  to  kill  and  eat  you, 
So  undo  the  button  of  your  chemie." 

When  Bill  received  this  information, 
He  used  his  pocket-handkerchie. 

"  First  let  me  say  my  catechism 

Which  my  poor  mammy  taught  to  me." 

"  Make  haste,  make  haste  !  "  says  guzzling  Jimmy, 
While  Jack  pulled  out  his  snickersnee. 

So  Billy  went  up  to  the  main-topgallant  mast, 
And  down  he  fell  on  his  bended  knee  : 

He  scarce  had  come  to  the  Twelfth  Commandment, 
When  up  he  jumps,  "There's  land  I  see  ! 

"Jerusalem  and  Madagascar, 

And  North  and  South  Amerikee ;. 
There's  the  British  flag  a-riding  at  anchor, 

With  the  Admiral  Napier,  K.  C.  B." 

» 

So  when  they  got  aboard  of  the  admiral's, 
He  hanged  fat  Jack,  and  flogged  Jimmee ; 

But  as  for  little  Bill  he  made  him 
The  captain  of  a  seventy-three. 

WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE  THACKERAY. 


FROM  "  CLYTEMtfpSTZA;"     .  JOi 


FROM    "CLYTEMNESTRA." 

THE  winds  were  lulled  in  Aulis ;  and  the  day, 
Down-sloped,  was  loitering  to  the  lazy  west. 
There  was  no  motion  of  the  glassy  bay, 
But  all  things  by  a  heavy  light  opprest. 
Windless,  cut  off  from  the  destined  way ; 
Dark  shrouds,  distinct  against  the  lurid  lull ; 
Dark  ropes  hung  useless,  loose,  from  mast  to  hull,  — 
The  black  ships  lay  abreast. 
Not  any  cloud  would  cross  the  brooding  skies. 
The  distant  sea  boomed  faintly,  nothing  more. 
They  walked  about  upon  the  yellow  shore ; 
Or,  lying  listless,  huddled  groups  supine, 
With  faces  turned  toward  the  flat  sea-spine, 
They  planned  the  Phrygian  battle  o'er  and  o'er, 
Till  each  grew  sullen,  and  would  talk  no  more, 
But  sat  dumb-dreaming.     Then  would  some  one  rise, 
And  look  toward  the  hollow  hulls,  with  haggard,  hopeless 

eyes  — 

Wild  eyes  —  and,  crowding  round,  yet  wilder  eyes  — 
And  gaping,  languid  lips. 
And  everywhere  that  men  could  see, 
About  the  black,  black  ships, 
Was  nothing  but  the  deep-red  sea ; 
The  deep-red  shore ; 
The  deep-red  skies ; 

The  deep-red  silence,  thick  with  thirsty  sighs ; 
And  daylight,  dying  slowly.     Nothing  more. 
The  tall  masts  stood  upright ; 
And  not  a  sail  above  the  burnished  prores : 
The  languid  sea,  like  one  outwearied  quite, 
Shrank,  dying  inward  into  hollow  shores 


;02   .  -  TO  . 

And  breathless  harbors,  under  sandy  bars ; 

And  one  by  one,  down  tracks  of  quivering  blue, 

The  singed  and  sultry  stars 

Looked  from  the  inmost  heaven,  far,  faint,  and  few  ; 

While  all  below  the  sick  and  steaming  brine 

The  spilled-out  sunset  did  incarnadine. 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 


TO 


AS  in  lone  fairy-lands,  up  some  rich  shelf 
Of  golden  sand  the  wild  wave  meaningly 
Heaps  its  unvalued  sea-wealth,  weed  and  gem, 
Then  creeps  back  slow  into  the  salt,  sad  sea, 
So  from  my  life's  new  searched  deeps  to  thee, 
Beloved,  I  cast  these  weed-flowers.     Smile  on  them. 
More  than  they  mean  I  know  not  to  express. 
So  I  shrink  back  into  my  old  sad  self, 
Far  from  all  words,  where  love  lies  fathomless. 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 


THE    TAR    FOR    ALL.    WEATHERS. 

I  SAILED  from  the  Downs  in  "The  Nancy :  " 
My  jib,  how  she  smacked  through  the  breeze  ! 
She's  a  vessel  as  light  as  my  fancy, 

As  ever  sailed  on  the  salt  seas  : 
So  adieu  to  the  white  cliffs  of  Britain, 

Our  girls,  and  our  dear  native  shore  ; 
For,  if  some  hard  rock  we  should  split  on, 
We  shall  never  see  them  any  more. 


THE    TAR  FOR  ALL    WEATHERS.  103 

But  sailors  are  born  for  all  weathers,  — 
Great  guns  let  it  blow  high  or  low  : 

Our  duty  keeps  us  to  our  tethers, 

And  when  the  gale  drives  we  must  go. 

When  we  entered  the  Gut  of  Gibraltar, 

I  verily  thought  she'd  have  sunk ; 
For  the  wind  began  so  for  to  alter, 

She  yawed  just  as  though  she  was  drunk. 
The  squall  tore  the  mainsail  to  shivers : 

"  Helm  a-weather  !  "  the  hoarse  boatswain  cries ; 
"  Brace  the  foresail  athwart !  "     See,  she  quivers, 

As  through  the  rough  tempest  she  flies. 
But  sailors,  etc. 

The  storm  came  on  thicker  and  faster ; 

As  black  just  as  pitch  was  the  sky ; 
When  truly  a  doleful  disaster 

Befell  three  poor  sailors  and  I. 
Ben  Buntline,  Sam  Shroud,  and  Dick  Handsail, 

By  a  blast  that  came  furious  and  hard, 
Just  while  we  were  furling  the  mainsail, 

Were  every  soul  swept  from  the  yard. 
But  sailors,  etc. 

Poor  Ben,  Sam,  and  Dick  cried,  "  Peccavi  /  " 

As  for  I,  at  the  risk  of  my  neck, 
While  they  sank  down  in  peace  to  old  Davy, 

Caught  a  rope,  and  so  landed  on  deck. 
Well,  what  would  you  have  ?     We  were  stranded ; 

And  out  of  a  fine  jolly  crew 
Of  three  hundred  that  sailed,  never  landed 

But  I,  and  I  think  twenty-two. 
But  sailors,  etc. 


104  THE  BEACON. 

After  thus  we  at  sea  had  miscarried, 

Another  guess  way  set  the  wind ; 
For  to  England  I  came,  and  got  married 

To  a  lass  that  was  comely  and  kind. 
But,  whether  for  joy  or  vexation, 

We  know  not  for  what  we  were  born : 
Perhaps  I  may  find  a  kind  station,  — 

Perhaps  I  may  touch  at  Cape  Horn. 
For  sailors,  etc. 

CHARLES  DIBDIN. 


THE    BEACON. 


HOW  broad  and  bright  athwart  the  wave 
Its  steadfast  light  the  beacon  gave, 
Far  beetling  from  the  headland  shore, 
The  rock  behind,  the  surge  before  ! 
How  lone  and  stern  and  tempest- seared, 
Its  brow  to  heaven  the  turret  reared  ! 
Type  of  the  glorious  souls  that  are 

The  lamps  our  wandering  barks  to  light, 
With  storm  and  cloud  round  every  star, 
•  The  fire-guides  of  the  night ! 

ii. 

How  dreary  was  that  solitude  ! 

Around  it  screamed  the  sea-fowl's  brood, 

The  only  sound,  amidst  the  strife 

Of  wind  and  wave,  that  spoke  of  life, 

Except,  when  heaven's  ghost-stars  were  pale, 

The  distant  cry  from  hurrying  sail. 


THE  BEACON.  105 

From  year  to  year  the  weeds  had  grown 
O'er  walls  slow-rotting  with  the  damp ; 

And  with  the  weeds  decayed,  alone, 
The  warder  of  the  lamp. 

in. 

But  twice  in  every  week  from  shore 
Fuel  and  food  the  boatmen  bore ; 
And  then  so  dreary  was  the  scene, 
So  wild  and  grim  the  warder's  mien, 
So  many  a  darksome  legend  gave 
Awe  to  that  Tadmor  of  the  wave, 

That^  scarce  the  boat  the  rock  could  gain, 
Scarce  heaved  the  pannier  on  the  stone, 
Than  from  the  rock  and  from  the  main 
The  unwilling  life  was  gone. 

IV. 

A  man  he  was  whom  man  had  driven 

To  loathe  the  earth,  and  doubt  the  heaven  : 

A  tyrant  foe  (beloved  in  youth) 

Had  called  the  law  to  crush  the  truth, 

Stripped  hearth  and  home,  and  left  to  shame 

The  broken  heart,  the  blackened  name. 

Dark  exile  from  his  kindred  then, 
He  hailed  the  rock,  the  lonely  wild : 

Upon  the  man  at  war  with  men 
The  frown  of  Nature  smiled. 

v. 

But  suns  on  suns  had  rolled  away : 

The  frame  was  bowed,  the  locks  were  gray ; 

And  the  eternal  sea  and  sky 

Seemed  one  still  death  to  that  dead  eye. 


106  THE  BEACON. 

And  Terror,  like  a  spectre,  rose 
From  the  dull  tomb  of  that  repose. 
No  sight,  no  sound,  of  human-kind  : 

The  hours,  like  drops  upon  the  stone  — 
What  countless  phantoms  man  may  find 
In  that  dark  word,  "  ALONE  "  ! 

VI. 

Dreams  of  blue  heaven  and  hope  can  dwell 
With  thraldom  in  its  narrowest  cell : 
The  airy  mind  may  pierce  the  bars, 
Elude  the  chain,  and  hail  the  stars : 
Canst  thou  no  drearier  dungeon  guess 
In  space ,  when  space  is  loneliness  ? 

The  body's  freedom  profits  none  ; 
The  heart  desires  an  equal  scope  : 

All  Nature  is  a  gaol  to  one 

Who  knows  nor  love  nor  hope. 

VII. 

One  day,  all  summer  in  the  sky, 

A  happy  crew  came  gliding  by, 

With  songs  of  mirth,  and  looks  of  glee,  — 

A  human  sunbeam  o'er  the  sea. 

"  O  warder  of  the  beacon  !  "  cried 

A  noble  youth  the  helm  beside, 

"  This  summer-day  how  canst  thou  bear 
To  guard  thy  smileless  rock  alone, 

And  through  the  hum  of  Nature  hear 
No  heart-beat  save  thine  own?  " 

VIII. 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  live  alone, 

To  hear  no  heart-beat  save  my  own. 


THE  BEACON.  107 

Each  moment  on  this  crowded  earth 
The  joy-bells  ring  some  new-born  birth : 
Can  ye  not  spare  one  form,  but  one, 
The  lowest,  least,  beneath  the  sun, 
To  make  the  morning  musical 

With  welcome  from  a  human  sound?" 
"  Nay,"  spake  the  youth  ;  "  and  is  that  all? 
Thy  comrade  shall  be  found." 

IX. 

The  boat  sailed  on,  and  o'er  the  main 
The  awe  of  silence  closed  again ; 
But  in  the  wassail  hours  of  night, 
When  goblets  go  their  rounds  of  light, 
And  in  the  dance,  and  by  the  side 
Of  her  yon  moon  shall  mark  his  bride, 

Before  that  child  of  pleasure  rose 
The  lonely  rock,  the  lonelier  one  — 

A  haunting  spectre  —  till  he  knows 
The  human  wish  is  won. 

x. 

Low-murmuring  round  the  turret's  base 
Wave  glides  on  wave  its  gentle  chase  : 
Lone  on  the  rock,  the  warder  hears 
The  oars'  faint  music.     Hark  !  it  nears  — 
It  gains  the  rock  :  the  rower's  hand 
Aids  a  gray,  time-worn  form  to  land. 
"  Behold  the  comrade  sent  to  thee  !  " 

He  said,  then  went.     And  in  that  place 
The  twain  were  left ;  and  misery 

And  guilt  stood  face  to  face. 


108  THE  BEACON. 

XI. 

Yes,  face  to  face  once  in.-) re  arrayed 
Stood  the  betrayer  —  the  betrayed. 
Oh  !  how  through  all  those  gloomy  years, 
When  guilt  revolves  what  conscience  fears, 
Had  that  wronged  victim  breathed  the  vow 
That  if,  but  face  to  face  —  And  now, 
There,  face  to  face  with  him  he  stood 

By  the  great  sea,  on  that  wild  steep : 
Around,  the  voiceless  solitude  ; 
Below,  the  funeral  deep. 


They  gazed  :  the  injurer's  face  grew  pale  ; 
Pale  writhe  the  lips,  the  murmurs  fail, 
And  thrice  he  strives  to  speak  —  in  vain  ! 
The  sun  looks  blood-red  on  the  main, 
The  boat  glides,  waning  less  and  less. 
No  law  lives  in  the  wilderness, 

Except  revenge  —  man's  first  and  last. 

Those  wrongs,  that  wretch  —  could  they  forgive  ? 

All  that  could  sweeten  life  was  past ; 
Yet,  oh,  how  sweet  to  live  ! 

xm. 

He  gazed  before,  he  glanced  behind : 
There  o'er  the  steep  rock  seems  to  wind 
The  devious,  scarce-seen  path  a  snake 
In  slime  and  sloth  might,  laboring,  make. 
With  a  wild  cry  he  springs,  he  crawls  ; 
Crag  upon  crag  he  clears,  and  falls 

Breathless  and  mute ;  and  o'er  him  stands, 
Pale  as  himself,  the  chasing  foe,  — 


THR  BEACON-.  109 

Mercy  !  what  mean  those  clasped  hands, 
Those  lips  that  tremble  so  ? 


"  Thou  hast  cursed  my  life,  my  wealth  despoiled  ; 

My  hearth  is  cold,  my  name  is  soiled ; 

The  wreck  of  what  was  man,  I  stand 

Mid  the  lone  sea  and  desert  land  — 

Well,  I  forgive  thee  all,  but  be 

A  human  voice  and  face  to  me. 

Oh,  stay  !  oh,  stay  !  and  let  me  yet 

One  thing  that  speaks  man's  language  know  ! 

The  waste  hath  taught  me  to  forget 
That  earth  once  held  a  foe." 

xv. 

O  heaven  !  methinks,  from  thy  soft  skies 
Looked  tearful  down  the  angel-eyes, 
Back  to  those  walls  to  mark  them  go, 
Hand  clasped  in  hand,  —  the  foe  and  foe. 
And  when  the  sun  sunk  slowly  there, 
Low  knelt  the  prayerless  man  in  prayer. 

He  knelt  no  more  the  lonely  one ; 
Within,  secure,  a  comrade  sleeps ; 

That  sun  shall  not  go  down  upon 
A  desert  in  the  deeps. 

XVI. 

He  knelt,  the  man  who  half  till  then 
Forgot  his  God  in  loathing  men,  — 
He  knelt,  and  prayed  that  God  to  spare 
The  foe  to  grow  the  brother  there ; 


HO  A   DAY  BY  THE  SEA. 

And,  reconciled  by  love  to  Heaven, 
Forgiving,  was  he  not  forgiven  ? 

"  Yes,  man  for  man  thou  didst  create  ; 

Man's  wrongs,  man's  blessings  can  atone. 
To  learn  how  love  can  spring  from  hate, 
Go,  hate,  and  live  alone  !  " 

LORD  LYTION. 


A    DAY    BY    THE    SEA. 

I  REMEMBER  a  day,  out  of  summer 
Dropped  down,  like  a  pearl  from  a  string, 
In  the  middle  of  dreary  November. 

Skies  blue,  zephyrs  soft,  not  the  wing 
Of  the  lightest  fleece-cloud  overspreading 

The  still,  solemn  peace  of  the  noon ; 
While  we,  in  life's  lonely  November, 
Were  blithe  with  the  brightness  of  June. 

The  friend  of  my  heart  was  beside  me : 

Like  children,  we  walked  by  the  sea ; 
Like  children,  we  hushed  'neath  the  voices 

Its  wild  waves  had  for  us.     Ah,  me  ! 
It  was  but  a  day,  quickly  over. 

From  the  splendor,  the  rose-light,  the  bliss 
Of  the  wide  tranquil  ocean,  returning 

To  our  work  and  our  wages,  we  miss, 

Day  by  day,  the  grand  sweep  of  the  billows, 
Day  by  day,  the  deep  calm  of  the  shore  : 

There  are  passionate  longings  within  us ; 
There  are  famishing  needs,  which  implore 


THE  EARL   O>   QUARTERDECK.  Ill 

For  knowledge,  for  wisdom,  for  power, 

For  the  grace  of  all  loveliest  things. 
Shall  the  spirit  be  satisfied  ever? 

Will  it  rise  as  triumphant  on  wings  ? 

Yes,  if  we  but  wait,  these  will  crown  us, 

The  day  of  an  infinite  rest 
When  the  tired  and  the  sad  will  be  gathered 

To  the  arms  of  the  Father,  and  blest, 
Beyond  uttermost  prayer,  out  of  sorrow, 

Beyond  uttermost  yearning  of  life, 
Past  all  that  is  vexing  and  grieving, 

Past  all  that  is  darkened  by  strife. 

And  the  peace  of  that  hour  will  be  fuller 

Than  the  peace  of  the  beautiful  day 
When  the  long  breakers  rolled  from  the  distance, 

And  the  surf  was  all  rainbowed  with  spray ; 
When  the  sunshine  was  golden  ;  when  glory 

Was  heaped  on  the  radiant  noon, 
Which,  midway  in  dreary  November, 

Had  captured  the  sweetness  of  June. 

MARGARET  E   SANGSTER. 


THE    EARL    O'    QUARTERDECK. 

(A   NEW   OLD   BALLAD.) 

THE  wind  it  blew,  and  the  ship  it  flew ; 
And  it  was  "  Hey  for  hame  ! 
And  ho  for  hame  !  "     But  the  skipper  cried, 
"  Haud  her  oot  o'er  the  saut  sea-faem  !  " 


112  THE  EARL   O'   QUARTERDECK. 

Then  up  and  spoke  the  king  himseP, 

"  Haud  on  for  Dumferline  ! " 
Quo  the  skipper,  "  Ye're  king  upo'  the  land  : 

I'm  king  upo'  the  brine." 

And  he  took  the  helm  intil  his  hand, 

And  he  steered  the  ship  sae  free  : 
Wi'  the  wind  astarn,  he  crowded  sail, 

And  stood  right  out  to  sea. 

Quo  the  king,  "  There's  treason  in  this,  I  vow  : 

There  is  something  underhand  ! 
'Bout  the  ship  !  "   Quo  the  skipper,  "  Yer  grace  forgets 

Ye  are  king  but  o'  the  land." 

And  still  he  held  to  the  open  sea ; 

And  the  east  wind  sank  behind ; 
And  the  wast  had  a  bitter  word  to  say, 

Wi'  a  white-sea-roarin'  wincL 

And  he  turned  her  head  into  the  north. 

Said  the  king,  "  Gar  fling  him  o'er." 
Quo  the  fearless  skipper,  "  It's  a'  ye're  worth  : 

Ye'll  ne'er  see  Scotland  more." 

The  king  crept  down  the  cabin-stair 

To  drink  the  gude  French  wine ; 
And  up  she  came,  his  daughter  fair, 

And  luiket  ower  the  brine. 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  drivin'  hail, 

To  the  hailbut  and  the  weet : 
Her  snood  it  brak,  and,  as  lang's  hersel', 

Her  hair  drave  out  i'  the  sleet. 


THE  EARL   <9'    QUARTERDECK.  113 

She  turned  her  face  frae  the  drivin'  wind  — 

"What's  that  ahead?"  quo  she. 
The  skipper  he  threw  himseF  frae  the  wind, 

And  he  drove  the  helm  a-lee. 

"  Put  to  yer  hand,  my  lady  fair  ! 

Put  to  yer  hand  !  "  quoth  he  : 
"  Gin  she  dinna  face  the  win'  the  mair, 

It's  the  waur  for  you  and  me." 

For  the  skipper  kenned  that  strength  is  strength, 

Whether  woman's  or  man's,  at  last. 
To  the  tiller  the  lady  she  laid  her  han', 

And  the  ship  laid  her  cheek  to  the  blast. 

For  that  slender  body  was  full  o'  soul ; 

And  the  will  is  mair  than  shape, 
As  the  skipper  saw  when  they  cleared  the  berg, 

And  he  heard  her  quarter  scrape. 

Quo  the  skipper,  "  Ye  are  a  lady  fair, 

And  a  princess  grand  to  see ; 
But  ye  are  a  woman,  and  a  man  wad  sail 

To  hell  in  yer  company." 

She  liftit  a  pale  and  a  queenly  face ; 

Her  een  flashed,  and  syne  they  swam. 
"And  what  for  no  to  heaven?"  she  says, 

And  she  turned  awa'  frae  him. 

But  she  took  na  her  han'  frae  the  good  ship's  helm 

Until  the  day  did  daw ; 
And  the  skipper  he  spak,  but  what  he  said 

It  was  said  at  ween  them  twa. 


114  THE  EARL   O'   QUARTERDECK. 

And  then  the  good  ship  she  lay  to, 

With  the  land  far  on  the  lea ; 
And  up  came  the  king  upo'  the  deck 

Wi'  wan  face  and  bluidshot  ee. 

The  skipper  he  louted  to  the  king : 
"  Gae  wa',  gae  vva'  !  "  said  the  king. 

Said  the  king,  like  a  prince,  "  I  was  a'  wrang : 
Put  on  this  ruby  ring." 

And  the  wind  blew  lowne,  and  the  stars  cam  out, 
And  the  ship  turned  to  the  shore ; 

And,  afore  the  sun  was  up  again, 
They  saw  Scotland  ance  more. 

That  day  the  ship  hung  at  the  pier-heid, 
And  the  king  he  stept  on  the  land. 

"  Skipper,  kneel  down  !  "  the  king  he  said  : 
"  Hoo  daur  ye  afore  me  stand?  " 

The  skipper  he  louted  on  his  knee ; 

The  king  his  blade  he  drew. 
Said  the  king,  "  How  daured  ye  centre  me  ? 

I'm  aboard  my  ain  ship  noo. 

"  I  canna  mak  ye  a  king,"  said  he, 
"  For  the  Lord  alone  can  do  that ; 

And,  forby,  ye  took  it  intil  yer  ain  han', 
And  crooned  yerseP  sae  pat ! 

"But  wi'  what  ye  will  I  redeem  my  ring : 

For  ance  I  am  at  your  beck ; 
And  first,  as  ye  loutit  Skipper  o'  Doon : 

Rise  up  Yerl  o'  Quarterdeck." 


THE  EARL    O'   QUARTERDECK.  115 

The  skipper  he  rose,  and  looked  at  the  king,  — 

In  his  een  for  all  his  croon. 
Said  the  skipper,  "  Here  is  yer  grace's  ring, 

And  yer  daughter  is  my  boon." 

And  the  reid  blude  sprang  into  the  king's  face,  — 

A  wrathful  man  to  see  : 
"  The  rascal  loon  abuses  our  grace ; 

Gae  hang  him  upon  yon  tree." 

The  skipper  he  sprang  aboard  his  ship, 

And  he  drew  his  biting  blade ; 
And  he  struck  the  chain  that  held  her  fast, 

But  the  iron  was  ower  weel  made. 

And  the  king  he  blew  a  whistle  loud ; 

And  tramp,  tramp,  down  the  pier 
Cam  twenty  riders  on  twenty  steeds, 

Clankin'  wi'  spur  and  spear. 

"  He  saved  your  life  !  "  cried  the  lady  fair : 

"  His  life  ye  daurna  spill !  " 
"  Will  ye  come  atween  me  and  my  hate  ?  " 

Quo  the  lady,  "And  that  I  will." 

And  on  cam  the  knights  wi'  spur  and  spear, 

For  they  heard  the  iron  ring. 
"  Gin  ye  care  na  for  yer  father's  grace, 

Mind  ye  that  I  am  the  king." 

"  I  kneel  to  my  father  for  his  grace, 

Right  lowly  on  my  knee  ; 
But  I  stand  and  look  the  king  in  the  face, 

For  the  skipper  is  king  o'  me." 


Il6  THE  LIGHTHOUSE. 

She  turned,  and  she  sprang  upo'  the  deck, 
And  the  cable  splashed  i'  the  sea : 

The  good  ship  spread  her  wings  sae  white, 
And  awa'  wi'  the  skipper  goes  she. 

Now,  was  not  this  a  king's  daughter, 

And  a  brave  lady  beside  ? 
And  a  woman  with  whom  a  man  might  sail 

Into  the  heaven  wi'  pride  ? 

GEORGE  MACDONALD. 


THE    LIGHTHOUSE. 

THE  rocky  ledge  runs  far  into  the  sea ; 
And  on  its  outer  point,  some  miles  away, 
The  lighthouse  lifts  its  massive  masonry, 
A  pillar  of  fire  by  night,  of  cloud  by  day. 

Even  at  this  distance  I  can  see  the  tides, 
Upheaving,  break  unheard  along  its  base, 

A  speechless  wrath,  that  rises  and  subsides 
In  the  white  lip,  and  tremor  of  the  face. 

And  as  the  evening  darkens,  lo  !  how  bright, 
Through  the  deep  purple  of  the  twilight  air, 

Beams  forth  the  sudden  radiance  of  its  light, 
With  strange,  unearthly  splendor  in  the  glare  ! 

Not  one  alone  :  from  each  projecting  cape 
And  perilous  reef  along  the  ocean's  verge, 

Starts  into  life  a  dim  gigantic  shape, 

Holding  its  lantern  o'er  the  restless  surge. 


THE  LIGHTHOUSE.  117 

Like  the  great  giant  Christopher,  it  stands 
Upon  the  brink  of  the  tempestuous  wave, 

Waciing  far  out  among  the  rocks  and  sands, 
The  night-o'ertaken  mariner  to  save. 

And  the  great  ships  sail  outward,  and  return, 
Bending  and  bowing  o'er  the  billowy  swells ; 

And  ever  joyful,  as  they  see  it  burn, 

They  wave  their  silent  welcomes  and  farewells. 

They  come  forth  from  the  darkness,  and  their  sails 
Gleam  for  a  moment  only  in  the  blaze ; 

And  eager  faces,  as  the  light  unveils, 

Gaze  at  the  tower,  and  vanish  while  they  gaze. 

The  mariner  remembers  when  a  child, 

On  his  first  voyage,  he  saw  it  fade  and  sink, 

And  when,  returning  from  adventures  wild, 
He  saw  it  rise  again  o'er  ocean's  brink. 

Steadfast,  serene,  immovable,  the  same 
Year  after  year,  through  all  the  silent  night 

Burns  on  forevermore  that  quenchless  flame, 
Shines  on  that  inextinguishable  light. 

It  sees  the  ocean  to  its  bosom  clasp 

The  rocks  and  sea-sand  with  the  kiss  of  peace ; 
It  sees  the  wild  winds  lift  it  in  their  grasp, 

And  hold  it  up,  and  shake  it  like  a  fleece. 

The  startled  waves  leap  over  it ;  the  storm 
Smites  it  with  all  the  scourges  of  the  rain ; 

And  steadily  against  its  solid  form 

Press  the  great  shoulders  of  the  hurricane. 


Il8  SOMVETS. 

The  sea-bird  wheeling  round  it,  with  the  din 
Of  wings  and  winds,  and  solitary  cries, 

Blinded  and  maddened  by  the  light  within, 
Dashes  himself  against  the  glare,  and  dies. 

A  new  Prometheus,  chained  upon  the  rock, 
Still  grasping  in  his  hand  the  fire  of  Jove, 

It  does  not  hear  the  cry,  nor  heed  the  shock, 
But  hails  the  mariner  with  words  of  love. 

"  Sail  on  !  "  it  says,  —  "  sail  on,  ye  stately  ships, 
And  with  your  floating  bridge  the  ocean  span 

Be  mine  to  guard  this  light  from  all  eclipse ; 
Be  yours  to  bring  man  nearer  unto  man  !  " 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 


SONNETS. 

TO   C.   AND  J.   W.    H.   OF   DRIFTWOOD   LODGE,    SACO,    ME. 
I. 

TyVELLERSat  Driftwood  Lodge,  dear  friends  and  kind, 

\J  Whose  sweetest  hospitalities  I  know, 

As  eager  bird  swift-flying  to  and  fro 

Will  leave  her  own  familiar  tree  behind 

Some  far-off  branches  scarce  less  dear  to  find, 

So  flies  Desire  to  you,  with  wings  aglow 

With  ardor  that  doth  make  the  bird-flight  slow, 

And  mock  the  fleetness  of  the  mountain  wind. 

So  flies  Desire ;  your  pleasant  seaside  cot 

Her  second  home  —  my  bower  of  fresh  delights  — 

This  hour  to  roam  your  silver-curving  shores, 

Those  fragrant  groves  which  you  can  claim  as  yours, 

And  there  to  dream  away  the  days  and  nights ; 

Yet  half  their  charm  were  gone  if  you  were  not. 


SONNETS.  119 

II. 

Shut  in  by  clustering  roofs  and  clustering  trees, 

Though  not  far  off  our  blue  bright  river  pours 

Its  full  swift  volume  'twixt  the  gracious  shores, 

How  do  I  long  in  golden  days  like  these 

For  the  wide  vision  of  the  crested  seas 

Where  the  fleet  swallow  circles,  dips,  and  soars ; 

Where  flash  the  gull's  white  wings,  the  fisher's  oars, 

And  sails  that  shift  and  darken  in  the  breeze ; 

Where  the  white  surf  along  the  glistening  beach, 

And  on  the  black  rocks  streaming  from  the  spray, 

Tosses  incessant  far  as  eye  can  reach ; 

And  ceaseless  murmurs  most  melodious^  pour, 

Swelling  anon,  anon  to  die  away, 

While  the  sweet  pines  make  answer  evermore  ! 

in. 

There  stands  your  cottage  peeping  from  the  wood, 

And  facing  all  the  splendors  of  the  sea, 

On  that  dear  spot  where  I  to-day  would  be ; 

Above,  below,  azure  of  sky  and  flood ; 

Boundless  seclusion,  boundless  solitude  ; 

And  in  the  midst  what  social  feast  for  me, 

To  choice  of  speech  or  silence  bidden  free, 

While  winds  and  waves  rock  every  varying  mood  ! 

Through  doors  and  windows  wide,  through  all  the  house, 

What  breeze-blown  odors  sweep  of  spice  and  balm, 

Hemlock  and  pine,  cedar  and  wilding-rose, 

And,  miles  away,  the  scent  of  meadow-mows. 

Exhaustless  sweetness,  inexpressible  calm  ; 

The  lapsing  water  murmuring,  Repose  f 

HARRIET  McEwEN  KIMBALL. 


120  ANNABEL  LEE. 


ANNABEL    LEE. 

IT  was  many  and  many  a  year  ago, 
In  a  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
That  a  maiden  there  lived,  whom  you  may  know 

By  the  name  of  Annabel  Lee ; 
And  this  maiden  she  lived  with  no  other  thought 
Than  to  love  and  be  loved  by  me. 

/  was  a  child,  and  she  was  a  child, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea ; 
But  we  loved  with  a  love  that  was  more  than  love, 

I  and  my  Annabel  Lee,  — 
With  a  love  that  the  winged  seraphs  of  heaven 

Coveted  her  and  me. 

And  this  was  the  reason,  that,  long  ago, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea, 
A  wind  blew  out  of  a  cloud,  chilling 

My  beautiful  Annabel  Lee ; 
So  that  her  high-born  kinsman  came 

And  bore  her  away  from  me, 
To  shut  her  up  in  a  sepulchre 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea. 

The  angels,  not  half  so  happy  in  heaven, 

Went  envying  her  and  me  : 
Yes,  that  was  the  reason  (as  all  men  know, 

In  this  kingdom  by  the  sea) 
That  the  wind  came  out  of  the  cloud  by  night, 

Chilling  and  killing  my  Annabel  Lee. 

But  our  love  it  was  stronger  by  far  than  the  love 
Of  those  who  were  older  than  we, 


WHITE-CAPPED    WAVES.  121 

Of  many  far  wiser  than  we  ; 
And  neither  the  angels  in  heaven  above, 

Nor  the  demons  down  under  the  sea, 
Can  dissever  my  soul  from  the  soul 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 
For  the  moon  never  beams  without  bringing  me  dreams 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee ; 
And  the  stars  never  rise,  but  I  feel  the  bright  eyes 

Of  the  beautiful  Annabel  Lee. 
And  so,  all  the  night-tide,  I  lie  down  by  the  side 
Of  my  darling,  my  darling,  my  life,  and  my  bride, 

In  the  sepulchre  there  by  the  sea, 

In  her  tomb  by  the  sounding  sea. 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 


WHITE-CAPPED    WAVES. 

WHITE-CAPPED  waves  far  round  the  ocean, 
Leaping  in  thanks,  or  leaping  in  play, 
All  your  bright  faces  in  happy  commotion 
Make  glad  matins  this  summer  day. 

The  rosy  light  through  the  morning's  portals 
Tinges  your  crest  with  an  August  hue, 

Calling  on  us  thought-prisoned  mortals 
Thus  to  live  in  the  moment  too. 

For,  graceful  creatures,  you  live  by  dying, 
Save  your  life  when  you  fling  it  away, 

Flow  through  all  forms,  all  forms  defying, 
And  in  wildest  freedom  strict  rule  obey. 


122  THE  FISHERS   GO  DOWN   TO  SEA. 

Show  us  your  art,  O  genial  daughters 
Of  solemn  ocean  !  thus  to  combine 

Freedom  and  force  of  rolling  waters 
With  sharp  observance  of  law  divine. 

JAMES  FREEMAN  CLARKE. 


THE    FISHERS    GO    DOWN    TO    SEA. 

OH  !  when  the  fishers  go  down  to  sea,  down  to  sea, 
down  to  sea, 
Oh  !  when  the  fishers  go  down  to  sea,  and  out  of  the 

arms  of  their  wives, 
Over  the  night  the  wind  blows  free,  bitter  and  free,  cruel 

and  free, 

Over  the  night  the  winds  blow  free,  with  the  terrible 
strength  that  rives. 

While  the  fishers  go  down  to  sea,  down  to  sea,  down  to 

sea, 
While  the  fishers  go  down  to  sea,  and  out  of  the  arms 

of  their  wives, 
But  though,  as  they  go,  the  wild  waves  flee,  tremble  and 

flee,  scatter  and  flee, 

But  though,  as  they  go,  the  wild  waves  flee,  and   the 
white  foam  shoreward  drives, 

Yet,  oh  !  the  fishers  that  go  to  sea,  down  to  sea,  out  to 

sea, 
Yet,  oh  !  the  fishers  that  go  to  sea,  and  out  of  the  arms 

of  their  wives, 

They  are  happier  far  than  we,  richer  than  we,  safer  than  we, 
They  are  happier  far  than  we  who  are  leading  loveless 
lives. 

"  HOWARD  GLYNDON." 


SAILOR'S  SONG.  123 

SAILOR'S    SONG. 

THE  sea  goes  up,  the  sky  comes  down. 
Oh  !  can  you  spy  the  ancient  town, 
The  granite  hills  so  hard  and  gray, 
That  rib  the  land  behind  the  bay? 
O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 
Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

Three  years  ?     Is  it  so  long  that  we 

Have  lived  upon  the  lonely  sea? 

Oh  !  often  I  thought  we'd  see  the  town, 

When  the  sea  went  up,  and  the  sky  came  down. 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

Even  the  winter  winds  would  rouse 
A  memory  of  my  father's  house ; 
For  round  his  windows  and  his  door 
They  made  the  same  deep,  mouthless  roar. 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

And,  when  the  summer's  breezes  beat, 
Methought  I  saw  the  sunny  street 
Where  stood  my  Kate.     Beneath  her  hand 
She  gazed  far  out,  far  out  from  land. 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 


124  SAILORS  SONG. 

Farthest  away,  I  oftenest  dreamed 
That  I  was  with  her.     Then  it  seemed 
A  single  stride  the  ocean  wide 
Had  bridged,  and  brought  me  to  her  side. 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

But  though  so  near  we're  drawing,  now, 
Tis  farther  off —  I  know  not  how. 
We  sail  and  sail :  we  see  no  home. 
Would  we  into  the  port  were  come  ! 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

At  night  the  same  stars  o'er  the  mast : 
The  mast  sways  round,  however  fast 
We  fly,  stilj  sways,  and  swings  around 
One  scanty  circle's  starry  bound. 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

Ah,  many  a  month  those  stars  have  shone, 
And  many  a  golden  morn  has  flown, 
Since  that  so  solemn  happy  morn, 
When,  I  away,  my  babe  was  born. 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

And,  though  so  near  we're  drawing  now, 
'Tis  farther  off —  I  know  not  how  : 


THE  HELMSMAN.  125 

I  would  not  aught  amiss  had  come 
To  babe  or  mother  there  at  home  ! 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

'Tis  but  a  seeming ;  swiftly  rush 
The  seas  beneath.     I  hear  the  crush 
Of  foamy  ridges  'gainst  the  prow. 
Longing  outspeeds  the  breeze,  I  know. 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

Patience,  my  mates  !     Though  not  this  eve 
We  cast  our  anchor,  yet  believe, 
If  but  the  wind  holds,  short  the  run : 
We'll  sail  in  with  to-morrow's  sun. 

O  ye  ho,  boys  !     Spread  her  wings  ! 

Fair  winds,  boys  :  send  her  home  ! 
O  ye  ho  ! 

GEORGE  PARSONS  LATHROP. 


THE    HELMSMAN. 

OVER  the  sweeps  of  wintry  sea 
.,  The  wild  north-easter  raves, 
Its  loud  song  rising  high  and  free 
Above  the  tossing  waves. 

Along  the  rock-bound,  gloomy  shore 

It  hurries  far  and  fast ; 
And  with  fierce  rush  and  savage  roar 

Bends  straining  sail  and  mast. 


126  THE  HELMSMAN. 

Down  from  the  north  the  brave  ship  speeds, 

O'er  surges  foaming  white, 
Following  where  the  tempest  leads 

Through  trackless  glooms  of  night. 

Grasping  the  wheels  with  freezing  hands, 

No  light  his  path  to  show, 
The  weather-beaten  helmsman  stands, 

His  gray  hair  full  of  snow. 

The  mighty  breakers  smite  the  sand 

Beyond  the  harbor-bar, 
And  fling  against  the  frowning  land 

Rent  plank  and  shattered  spar. 

And  dim  the  beacon's  warning  streams 

Amid  the  flying  spray ; 
Or  through  the  driving  snow-squall  gleams 

A  ghostly  spark  of  gray. 

Oh  !  dark  and  low  the  murky  cloud 
That  hides  the  beacon's  light, 

And  fierce  and  high  the  winds  that  loud 
Exult  in  stormy  might. 

The  waves  are  full  of  phosphor  fire ; 

The  good  ship's  foamy  path 
Glows  like  a  serpent,  flaming,  dire, 

And  lurid  in  its  wrath. 

Swift  where  the  yawning  caverns  wait, 
And  rocks  with  sea-lights  shine, 

The  good  ship  rushes  to  her  fate  — 
And  dies,  and  makes  no  sign. 


NANCY  LEE. 

But  on  the  sands,  when  radiant  morn 

Illumes  the  eastern  skies, 
'Mong  tangled  rope,  and  canvas  torn, 

The  bluff  old  helmsman  lies. 

His  rough  hands  grasp  with  fingers  cold 

The  wheel  that  was  his  care ; 
While  tenderly  the  sunlight's  gold 

Burns  in  his  matted  hair. 

The  long,  long  years  will  come  and  go, 

And  loving  eyes  grow  dim, 
As,  by  some  Old  World  river's  flow, 

They  wait  and  watch  for  him. 

THOMAS  S.  COLLIER. 


NANCY    LEE. 

OF  all  the  wives  as  e'er  you  know, 
Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 
There's  none  like  Nancy  Lee,  I  trow, 

Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 
See,  there  she  stands,  an'  waves  her  hands   upon  the 

quay ; 

An'  every  day,  when  I'm  away,  she'll  watch  for  me, 
An'  whisper  low,  when  tempests  blow,  for  Jack  at  sea, 

Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 
The  sailor's  wife  the  sailor's  star  shall  be, 

Yeo  ho  !  we  go  across  the  sea. 
The  sailor's  wife  the  sailor's  star  shall  be, 
The  sailor's  wife  his  star  shall  be. 


128  POLLY. 

The  harbor's  past,  the  breezes  blow, 

Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 
*Tis  long  ere  we  come  back,  I  know, 

Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 

But  true  an'  bright  from  morn  till  night  my  home  will  be, 
An'  all  so  neat  an'  snug  an'  sweet  for  Jack  at  sea, 

An'  Nancy's  face  to  bless  the  place, 
An*  welcome  me. 

Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 

etc.,  etc. 

The  boa's'n  pipes  the  watch  below, 

Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 
Then  here's  a  health  afore  we  go, 

Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 

A  long,  long  life  to  my  sweet  wife  and  mates  at  sea, 
An'  keep  our  bones  from  Davy  Jones  where'er  we  be, 
An'  may  you  meet  a  mate  as  sweet  as  Nancy  Lee  ! 

Yeo  ho,  lads  !  ho  !  yeo  ho  ! 

etc.,  etc. 

FREDERICK  E.  WEATHERLY. 


POLLY. 

DO  you  want  to  know  the  smartest  craft  as  ever  put 
from  port? 
Well,  that's  my  "  Polly,"  the  lively  "  Polly ;  "  and  she's  a 

rare,  good  sort : 
Ope  the  window,  and  look,  my  lads  :  she's  lyin'  agen  the 

quay,  — 

The  smartest  craft,  afore  and  abaft,  as  ever  went  to  sea. 
Afloat,  afloat,  in  my  pilot-boat,  the  winds  and  waves  for  me ; 
"  Polly,"  and  "  Polly,"  she's  so  jolly, 

The  jolliest  craft  on  sea  ! 


NIGHT  SONG,  129 

Do  you  want  to  know  the  sweetest  wife  as  lives  in  this 

here  place  ? 
Well,  that's  my  Polly,  my  little  Polly,  and  bless  her  heart 

and  face  ! 
Come,  you'll  always  find  her  there  in  her  bit  of  a  house 

by  the  quay, 
Her  hands  full  of  work,  and  her  heart  of  love  —  and  all 

for  the  sake  of  me. 
Afloat,  afloat,  in  my  pilot-boat,  when  the  sail  is  set  and 

furled  ; 
Polly,  and  Polly,  she's  so  jolly, 

The  sweetest  wife  in  the  world  ! 

Do  you  want  a  toast  to-night,  my  lads,  afore  we  say  good- 

by? 
Well,  that's  my  wife  and  the  lively  "  Polly ; "  and  bless 

'em  both,  say  I : 
Fill  your  glasses  high,  my  lads,  an'  drink  it  three  times 

three ; 
Here's  to  my  wife,  the  pride  of  my  life,  and  the  boat  I 

steers  to  sea. 
Afloat,  afloat,  I  sing  in  my  boat,  when  the  sail  is  set  and 

furled ; 
Polly,  and  Polly,  they're  so  jolly, 

The  sweetest  pair  in  the  world  ! 

FREDERICK  E.  WEATHERLY. 


NIGHT    SONG. 

"OLLOW  and  vast,  starred  skies  are  o'er  us, 

Bare  to  their  blue  profoundest  height : 
Waves  and  moonlight  melt  before  us 
Into  the  heart  of  the  lonely  night. 


H 


130  HOMEWARD. 

"  Row,  young  oarsman  !  row,  young  oarsman  ! 

See  how  the  diamonds  drip  from  the  oar : 
What  of  the  shore  and  friends?  young  oarsman, 

Never  row  us  again  to  shore. 

"  See  how  shadow  and  silver  mingle 
Here  on  the  wonderful  wide  bare  sea ! 

And  shall  we  sigh  for  the  blinking  ingle, 
Sigh  for  the  old  known  chamber,  we  ? 

"  Row,  young  oarsman  !  far  out  yonder, 
Into  the  crypt  of  the  night,  we  float : 

Fair  faint  moonflower,  wash  and  wander, 
Wash  and  wander  about  our  boat. 

"  Not  a  fetter  is  here  to  bind  us ; 

Love  and  memory  lose  their  spell : 
Friends  of  the  home  we  have  left  behind  us 

Prisoners  of  content,  farewell ! 

"  Row,  young  oarsman,  far  out  yonder, 
Over  the  moonlight's  breathing  breast ! 

Rest  not,  give  us  no  pause  to  ponder : 
All  things  we  can  endure  but  rest." 

W.  H.  MALLOCH'S  "  ROMANCE  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 


HOMEWARD. 

FAR  bells  ring  on  together 
From  quiet  deeps  below. 
I  know  not  whence  they  gather 
And  grasp  me,  know  not  whether 
They  bring  me  joy  or  woe. 


THE  SEA-MAIDEN.  131 

Lost  voices  —  glad  or  weeping?  — 

Call  from  yon  shore  so  far : 

The  wind,  the  waves,  lie  sleeping ; 

And  through  heaven's  blue  depths  sweeping, 

Shoots  forth  a  wandering  star. 

A  span  the  moon's  bright  gaze  is 

O'er  the  wide  flood.     Maybe, 

On  that  bridge  the  moonbeam  raises, 

A  soul,  redeemed,  retraces 

Soft  ways  to  eternity. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  KALBECK. 

TRANSLATION  OF  WILLIAM  P.  ANDREWS. 


THE    SEA-MAIDEN. 

THERE  was  a  lily  and  rose  sea-maiden 
In  marvellous  depths  of  far-away  seas, 
Whose  eyes  were  blue,  and  whose  head  was  laden 
With  luminous  curls  like  the  honey  of  bees. 

Half-hidden  by  corals,  and  swaying  rushes, 
And  vines  of  the  ocean,  she  sat  arrayed 

In  a  tremulous  veil  of  delicate  blushes, 
And  robes  of  quivering  light  and  shade. 

The  sun-fish  came  to  worship  her  graces ; 

The  dog-fish  lingered,  and  marvelled  beside ; 
And  she  gayly  smiled  in  their  whimsical  faces, 

And  sang  them  songs  till  they  laughed  or  cried. 

A  poet  of  earth  looked  down  upon  her, 

And  loved  and  beckoned,  and  told  his  love ; 

But  her  soul  was  coy  with  a  sea-maiden's  honor, 
And  she  would  not  go  to  the  world  above. 


132 


THE  SEA-MAIDEN. 


So  there  he  staid  by  the  crystalline  water ; 

He  leaned  and  gazed,  with  his  heart  on  fire, 
And  died  at  last  for  the  ocean's  daughter,  — 

Died  of  sorrow  and  long  desire. 

And  still  she  sits  in  the  peace  of  ocean, 

The  peace  of  the  mouth  of  the  ocean-caves,  — 

A  damsel  without  an  earthly  emotion, 

Who  cares  not  for  men,  their  loves,  or  their  graves. 

Thus,  deep  in  calms  of  woman's  life,  covers 
Herself  some  maiden  on  aureate  sands 

Of  duty  and  innocence,  far  from  lovers, 

From  beatings  of  hearts,  and  Teachings  of  hands. 

J.  W.  DEFOREST. 


AVES  OF  THE  DEEP. 


CHILDREN  are  we 

Of  the  restless  sea, 
Swelling  in  anger,  or  sparkling  in  glee  ; 

We  follow  and  race, 

In  shifting  chase, 
Over  the  boundless  ocean-space ! 
Who  hath  beheld  where  the  race  begun  ? 

Who  shall  behold  it  run  ? 

BAYARD  TAYLOR:  The  Waves. 


WAVES. 

WITH  never-ending  steps  along  the  beach, 
Evermore  washed  by  the  s*ad,  swelling  sea, 
I  wandered.     Ocean-waves,  what  would  ye  reach? 
Waves  of  my  soul,  what  do  ye  seek  for  me  ? 

On  the  surface,  by  the  waves  thou  shalt  be  tossed  from 

side  to  side : 
Go  down  into  the  depths,  and  with  the  current  calmly 

glide. 

FROM  "  THE  DIAL"  (Boston,  Mass.),  OCTOBER,  1840. 


M 


DEEP-SEA    SOUNDINGS. 
ARINER,  what  of  the  deep? 


This  of  the  deep  : 
Twilight  is  there,  and  solemn,  changeless  calm ; 
Beauty  is  there,  and  tender,  healing  balm,  — 
Balm  with  no  root  in  earth,  or  air,  or  sea : 
Poised  by  the  finger  of  God,  it  floateth  free ; 
And,  as  it  treadeth  the  waves,  the  sound  doth  rise, 
Hither  shall  come  no  further  sacrifice ; 

135 


136  DEEP-SEA   SOUXDIXGS. 

Never  again  the  anguished  clutch  at  life, 
Never  again  great  Love  and  Death  in  strife  : 
He  who  hath  suffered  all  need  fear  no  more, 
Quiet  his  portion  now  forevermore. 

Mariner,  what  of  the  deep  ? 

This  of  the  deep  : 

Solitude  dwells  not  there,  though  silence  reign ; 
Mighty  the  brotherhood  of  loss  and  pain ; 
There  is  communion  past  the  need  of  speech, 
There  is  a  love  no  words  of  love  can  reach. 
Heavy  the  waves  that  superincumbent  press ; 
But,  as  we  labor  here  with  constant  stress, 
Hand  doth  hold  out  to  hand  not  help  alone, 
But  the  deep  bliss  of  being  fully  known. 
There  are  no  kindred  like  the  kin  of  sorrow, 
There  is  no  hope  like  theirs  who  fear  no  morrow. 

Mariner,  what  of  tlue  deep? 

This  of  the  deep  : 

Though  we  have  travelled  past  the  line  of  day, 
Glory  of  night  doth  light  us  on  our  way,  — 
Radiance  that  comes,  we  know  not  how  nor  whence, 
Rainbows  without  the  rain,  past  duller  sense, 
Music  of  hidden  reefs,  and  waves  long  past, 
Thunderous  organ-tones  from  far-off  blast, 
Harmony,  victrix,  throned  in  state  sublime, 
Couched  on  the  wrecks  begemmed  with  pearls  of  time  ; 
Never  a  wreck  but  brings  some  beauty  here  : 
Down  where  the  waves  are  stilled,  the  sea  shines  clear. 
Deeper  than  life  the  plan  of  life  doth  lie, 
He  who  knows  all  fears  nought.     Great  Death  shall  die. 

ANONYMOUS. 


AT  SEA.  137 

AT    SEA. 

THE  night  is  made  for  cooling  shade, 
For  silence,  and  for  sleep  ; 
And,  when  I  was  a  child,  I  laid 
My  hands  upon  my  breast,  and  prayed, 

And  sank  to  slumbers  deep  : 
Childlike,  as  then,  I  lie  to-night, 
And  watch  my  lonely  cabin-light. 

Each  movement  of  the  swaying  lamp 

Shows  how  the  vessel  reels  ; 
And  o'er  the  deck  the  billows  tramp : 
And  all  her  timbers  strain  and  cramp, 

With  every  shock  she  feels  : 
It  starts  and  shudders,  while  it  burns, 
And  in  its  hinged  socket  turns. 

Now  swinging  slow,  and  slanting  low, 

It  almost  level  lies  ; 
And  yet  I  know,  while  to  and  fro 
I  watch  the  seeming  pendule  go 

With  restless  fall  and  rise, 
The  steady  shaft  is  still  upright, 
Poising  its  little  globe  of  light. 

Oh,  hand  of  God  !     Oh,  lamp  of  peace  ! 

Oh,  promise  of  my  soul ! 
Though  weak,  and  tossed,  and  ill  at  ease, 
Amid  the  roar  of  smiting  seas, 

The  ship's  convulsive  roll, 
I  own,  with  love  and  tender  awe, 
Yon  perfect  type  of  faith  and  law. 


138  THE  FIRE  BY  THE  SEA. 

A  heavenly  trust  my  spirit  calms ; 

My  soul  is  filled  with  light ; 
The  ocean  sings  his  solemn  psalms, 
The  wild  winds  chant :  I  cross  my  palms, 

Happy  as  if  to-night, 
Under  the  cottage-roof  again, 
I  heard  the  sobbing  summer  rain. 

JOHN  TOWNSEND  TROWBKIDGE. 

THE    FIRE    BY    THE    SEA. 

r  I  \HERE  were  seven  fishers  with  nets  in  their  hands, 
JL    And  they  walked  and  talked  by  the  seaside  sands ; 
Yet  sweet  as  the  sweet  dew-fall 

The  words  they  spake,  though  they  spake  so  low, 

Across  the  long,  dim  centuries  flow, 

And  we  know  them  one  and  all  — 
Ay  !  know  them,  and  love  them  all. 

Seven  sad  men  in  the  days  of  old ; 

And  one  was  gentle,  and  one  was  bold, 

And  they  walked  with  downward  eyes  : 

The  bold  was  Peter,  the  gentle  was  John ; 

And  they  all  were  sad,  for  the  Lord  was  gone, 

And  they  knew  not  if  he  would  rise,  — 
Knew  not  if  the  dead  would  rise. 

The  livelong  night,  till  the  moon  went  out, 

In  the  drowning  waters  they  beat  about, — 

Beat  slow  through  the  fog  their  way ; 

And  the  sails  drooped  down  with  the  wringing  wet, 

And  no  man  drew  but  an  empty  net ; 

And  now  'twas  the  break  of  the  day, — 
The  great,  glad  break  of  the  day. 


THE  FIRE  BY  THE  SEA.  139 

"  Cast  in  your  nets  on  the  other  side  ! " 
('Twas  Jesus  speaking  across  the  tide  ;) 

And  they  cast,  and  were  dragging  hard. 
But  that  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved 
Cried  straightway  out,  for  his  heart  was  moved  : 

"  It  is  our  risen  Lord,  — 

Our  Master  and  our  Lord." 

Then  Simon,  girding  his  fisher's  coat, 

Went  over  the  nets,  and  out  of  the  boat,  — 
Ay  !  first  of  them  all  was  he  : 

Repenting  sore  of  the  denial  past, 

He  feared  no  longer  his  heart  to  cast 

Like  an  anchor  into  the  sea,  — 
Down  deep  in  the  hungry  sea. 

And  the  others,  through  the  mists  so  dim, 
In  a  little  ship  came  after  him, 

Dragging  their  net  through  the  tide ; 
And,  when  they  had  gotten  close  to  the  land, 
They  saw  a  fire  of  coals  on  the  sand, 

And  with  arms  of  love  so  wide, 

Jesus,  the  crucified  ! 

'Tis  long,  and  long,  and  long  ago 

Since  the  rosy  lights  began  to  flow 

O'er  the  hills  of  Galilee, 

And  with  eager  eyes  and  lifted  hands 

The  seven  fishers  saw  on  the  sands 

The  fire  of  coals  by  the  sea,  — 
On  the  wet,  wild  sands  by  the  sea. 

Tis  long  ago  ;  yet  faith  in  our  souls 
Is  kindled  just  by  that  fire  of  coals 


140  SONG. 

That  streamed  o'er  the  mists  of  the  sea, 

Where  Peter,  girding  his  fisher's  coat, 

Went  over  the  nets,  and  out  of  the  boat, 

To  answer,  "  Lov'st  thou  me  ?  "  — 
Thrice  over,  "  Lov'st  thou  me  ?  " 

ALICE  GARY. 

SONG. 

THE  roaring  waves  are  dashing 
High  on  the  strand  : 
They're  swelling  and  they're  crashing 
Over  the  sand. 

They  come  in  noisy  fashion 

Unceasingly, 
At  length  burst  into  passion  : 

But  what  care  we  ? 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  HEINRICH  HEINE. 

TRANSLATION  OF  E.  A.  BOWRING. 


NO    MORE    SEA. 
(REV.  xxi.  i.) 

SUMMER  ocean,  idly  washing 
This  gray  rock  on  which  I  lean ; 
Summer  ocean,  broadly  flashing 

With  thy  hues  of  gold  and  green, 
Gently  swelling,  wildly  dashing 

O'er  yon  island-studded  scene  ; 
Summer  ocean,  how  I'll  miss  thee  ! 

Miss  the  thunder  of  thy  roar, 
Miss  the  music  of  thy  ripple, 

Miss  thy  sorrow-soothing  shore. 


NO  MORE  SEA.  141 

Summer  ocean,  how  I'll  miss  thee 

When  "the  sea  shall  be  no  more  "  ! 
Summer  ocean,  how  I'll  miss  thee, 

As  along  thy  strand  I  range, 
Or  as  here  I  sit  and  watch  thee 

In  thy  moods  of  endless  change  !  — 
Mirthful  moods  of  morning  gladness, 
Musing  moods  of  sunset  sadness, 
When  the  dying  winds  caress  thee, 
And  the  sinking  sunbeams  kiss  thee, 
And  the  crimson  cloudlets  press  thee, 
And  all  nature  seems  to  bless  thee. 
Summer  ocean,  how  I'll  miss  thee,  — 

Miss  the  wonders  of  thy  shore, 
Miss  the  magic  of  thy  grandeur, 
When  "  the  sea  shall  be  no  more  "  ! 

And  yet  sometimes  in  my  musings, 

When  I  think  of  what  shall  be 
In  the  day  of  earth's  new  glory, 

Still  I  seem  to  roam  by  thee, 
As  if  all  had  not  departed, 

But  the  glory  lingered  still, 
As  if  that  which  made  thee  lovely 

Had  remained  unchangeable. 
Only  that  which  marred  thy  beauty,  — 

Only  that  had  passed  away,  — 
Sullen  wilds  of  ocean-moorland, 

Bloated  features  of  decay. 
Only  that  dark  waste  of  waters 

Line  ne'er  fathomed,  eye  ne'er  scanned, 
Only  that  shall  shrink  and  vanish, 

Yielding  back  the  imprisoned  land. 


142  WILD    WEATHER   OUTSIDE. 

Yielding  back  earth's  fertile  hollows, 

Long  submerged  and  hidden  plains ; 
Giving  up  a  thousand  valleys 

Of  the  ancient  world's  domains ; 
Leaving  still  bright  azure  ranges 
•     Winding  round  this  rocky  tower ; 
Leaving  still  yon  gem-bright  island 

Sparkling  like  an  ocean-flower ; 
Leaving  still  some  placid  stretches 

Where  the  sunbeams  bathe  at  noon ; 
Leaving  still  some  lake-like  reaches, 

Mirrors  for  the  silver  moon. 
Only  all  of  gloom  and  horror, 

Idle  wastes  of  endless  brine, 
Haunts  of  darkness,  storm,  and  danger,  — 

These  shall  be  no  longer  thine. 
Backward  ebbing,  wave  and  ripple 

Wondrous  scenes  shall  then  disclose ; 
And,  like  earth's,  the  wastes  of  ocean 

Then  shall  blossom  as  the  rose. 

HORATIUS   BONAK. 


WILD    WEATHER    OUTSIDE. 

WILD  weather  outside,  where  the  brave  ships  go, 
And  fierce  from  all  quarters  the  four  winds  blow, 
Wild  weather  and  cold ;  and  the  great  waves  swell, 
With  chasms  beneath  them  as  black  as  hell. 
The  waters  frolic  in  Titan  play, 
They  dash  the  decks  with  an  icy  spray ; 
The  spent  sails  shiver,  the  lithe  masts  reel, 
And  the  sheeted  ropes  are  as  smooth  as  steel. 


WILD    WEATHER   OUTSIDE.  143 

And  oh  that  the  sailor  were  safe  once  more 
Where  the  sweet  wife  smiles  in  the  cottage-door ! 

The  little  cottage,  it  shines  afar 

O'er  the  lurid  seas,  like  the  polar  star. 

The  mariner,  tossed  in  the  jaws  of  death, 

Hurls  at  the  storm  a  defiant  breath, 

Shouts  to  his  mates  through  the  writhing  foam, 

"  Courage  !  please  God,  we  shall  yet  win  home  ! " 

Frozen  and  haggard  and  wan  and  gray, 

But  resolute  still,  —  'tis  the  sailor's  way ; 

And  perhaps  —  at  the  fancy  the  stern  eyes  dim  — 

Somebody's  praying  to-night  for  him. 

Ah,  me  !  through  the  drench  of  the  bitter  rain 
How  bright  the  picture  that  rises  plain  ! 
Sure  he  can  see,  with  her  merry  look, 
His  little  maid  crooning  her  spelling-book ; 
The  baby  crows  from  the  cradle  fair ; 
The  grandam  nods  in  her  easy-chair ; 
While  hither  and  yon,  with  a  quiet  grace, 
A  woman  flits,  with  an  earnest  face. 
The  kitten  purs,  and  the  kettle  sings ; 
And  a  nameless  comfort  the  picture  brings. 

Rough  weather  outside  ;  but  the  winds  of  balm 

Forever  float  o'er  that  isle  of  calm. 

O  friends,  who  read  over  tea  and  toast 

Of  the  wild  night's  work  on  the  storm-swept  coast, 

Think,  when  the  vessels  are  overdue, 

Of  the  perilous  voyage,  the  baffled  crew, 

Of  stout  hearts  battling  for  love  and  home 

Mid  the  cruel  blasts  and  the  curdling  foam, 


144  THE  DEEP. 

And  breathe  a  prayer  from  your  happy  lips 
For  those  who  must  go  "  to  the  sea  in  ships  :  " 
Ask  that  the  sailor  may  stand  once  more 
Where  the  sweet  wife  smiles  in  the  cottage-door. 

MARGARET  E.  SANGSTER. 


THE    DEEP. 

npHERE'S  beauty  in  the  deep  : 
1    The  wave  is  bluer  than  the  sky ; 
And,  though  the  light  shine  bright  on  high, 
More  softly  do  the  sea-gems  glow 
That  sparkle  in  the  depths  below : 
The  rainbow's  tints  are  only  made 
When  on  the  waters  they  are  laid, 
And  sun  and  moon  most  sweetly  shine 
Upon  the  ocean's  level  brine. 
There's  beauty  in  the  deep. 

There's  music  in  the  deep  : 
It  is  not  in  the  surfs  rough  roar, 
Nor  in  the  whispering,  shelly  shore ; 
They  are  but  earthly  sounds,  that  tell 
How  little  of  the  sea-nymph's  shell, 
That  sends  its  loud,  clear  note  abroad, 
Or  winds  its  softness  through  the  flood, 
Echoes  through  groves  with  coral  gay, 
And  dies,  on  spongy  banks,  away. 

There's  music  in  the  deep. 

There's  quiet  in  the  deep  : 
Above  let  tides  and  tempests  rave, 
And  earth-born  whirlwinds  wake  the  wave ; 


A   QUEST.  145 

Above  let  care  and  fear  contend 
With  sin  and  sorrow  to  the  end : 
Here,  far  beneath  the  tainted  foam 
That  frets  above  our  peaceful  home, 
We  dream  in  joy,  and  wake  in  love, 
Nor  know  the  rage  that  yells  above. 
There's  quiet  in  the  deep. 

JOHN  GARDINER  CAULKINS  BRAINARD. 


A    QUEST. 

ALL  in  the  summer  even, 
When  sea  and  sky  were  bright, 
As  royally  the  sunset 

Went  forth  to  meet  the  night, 

My  love  and  I  were  sailing 

Into  the  shining  west, 
To  find  some  happy  island, 

Some  paradise  of  rest. 

We  steered  where  sunset  splendor 
Turned  into  gold  the  shore  : 

The  rocks  behind  its  brightness 
Were  cruel  as  before. 

Within  the  caves  sang  sirens ; 

But  there  the  whirlpools  be  : 
Not  there  the  happy  islands, 

Not  there  the  peaceful  sea. 

Toward  the  deep  mid-ocean 

Tides  ran,  and  swift  winds  blew : 

It  must  be  there  those  islands 
Await  the  longing  view. 


146  THE    TIDES. 

Their  shores  are  soft  with  verdure, 
Their  skies  forever  fair, 

And  always  is  the  fragrance 
Of  blossoms  on  the  air. 

I  set  my  sail  to  seek  them ; 

But  she,  my  love,  drew  back : 
"  Not  yet  —  the  night  is  chilly ; 

I  fear  that  unknown  track." 

So  home  we  sailed,  at  twilight, 
To  the  familiar  shore  ; 

Turned  from  the  golden  glory, 
To  live  the  old  life  o'er. 

% 
We'll  make  no  further  ventures, 

For  timid  is  my  love, 
Until  fresh  sailing-orders 
Are  sent  us  from  above. 

Then  to  the  deep  mid-ocean, 
Though  we  reluctant  sail, 

We'll  find  our  happy  islands, 
And  joys  that  cannot  fail. 

LOUISE  CHANDLER  MOULTON. 


THE    TIDES. 

THE  moon  is  at  her  full,  and,  riding  high, 
Floods  the  calm  field  with  light : 
The  airs  that  hover  in  the  summer-sky 
Are  all  asleep  to-night. 


THE    TIDES.  147 

There  comes  no  voice  from  the  great  woodlands  round 

That  murmured  all  the  day  : 
Beneath  the  shadow  of  their  boughs  the  ground 

Is  not  more  still  than  they. 

But  ever  heaves  and  moans  the  restless  deep : 

His  rising  tides  I  hear ; 
Afar  I  see  the  glimmering  billows  leap, 

I  see  them  breaking  near. 

Each  wave  springs  upward,  climbing  towaid  the  fair 

Pure  light  that  sits  on  high  ; 
Springs  eagerly,  and  faintly  sinks  to  where 

The  mother-waters  lie. 

Upward  again -it  swells; 'the  moonbeams  show 

Again  its  glimmering  crest : 
Again  it  feels  the  fatal  weight  below, 

And  sinks,  but  not  to  rest. 

Again  and  yet  again,  until  the  deep 

Recalls  his  brood  of  waves  ; 
And  with  a  sullen  moan,  abashed,  they  creep 

Back  to  his  inner  caves. 

Brief  respite  !  they  shall  rush  from  that  recess 

With  noise  and  tumult  soon, 
And  fling  themselves,  with  unavailing  stress, 

Up  toward  the  placid  moon. 

O  restless  Sea !  that  in  thy  prison  here 

Dost  struggle  and  complain, 
Through  the  slow  centuries  yearning  to  be  near 

To  that  fair  orb  in  vain ; 


148  THE  DROWNED  MARINER. 

The  glorious  source  of  light  and  heat  must  warm 

Thy  billows  from  on  high, 
And  change  them  to  the  cloudy  trains  that  form 

The  curtain  of  the  sky. 

Then  only  may  they  leave  the  waste  of  brine 

In  which  they  welter  here, 
And  rise  above  the  hills  of  earth,  and  shine 

In  a  serener  sphere. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


THE    DEOWNED    MARINER. 


A  MARINER  sat  in  the  shrouds  one  night ; 
The  wind  was  piping  free  ; 

Now  bright,  now  dimmed,  was  the  moonlight  pale  ; 
And  the  phosphor  gleamed  in  the  wake  of  the  whale 

As  it  floundered  in  the  sea ; 
The  scud  was  flying  athwart  the  sky  ; 
The  gathering  winds  went  whistling  by ; 
And  the  wave,  as  it  then  fell  in  spray, 
Looked  an  emerald  wall  in  the  moonlight  ray. 


ii. 

The  mariner  swayed  and  rocked  on  the  mast ; 

But  the  tumult  pleased  him  well ; 
Down  the  yawning  wave  his  eye  he  cast, 
And  the  monsters  watched,  as  they  hurried  past, 

Or  lightly  rose  and  fell ; 


THE  DROWNED  MARINER.  149 

For  their  broad,  damp  fins  were  under  the  tide, 
And  they  lashed,  as  they  passed,  the  vessel's  side ; 
And  their  filmy  eyes,  all  huge  and  grim, 
Glared  fiercely  up,  and  they  glared  at  him. 

m. 

Now  freshens  the  gale,  and  the  brave  ship  goes 

Like  an  uncurbed  steed  along ; 
A  sheet  of  flame  is  the  spray  she  throws, 
As  her  gallant  prow  the  water  ploughs ; 

But  the  ship  is  fleet  and  strong. 
The  topsails  are  reefed,  and  the  sails  are  furled ; 
And  onward  she  sweeps  o'er  the  watery  world, 
And  dippeth  her  spars  in  the  surging  flood  ; 
But  there  cometh  no  chill  to  the  mariner's  blood. 


Wildly  she  rocks ;  but  he  swingeth  at  ease, 

And  holds  him  by  the  shroud ; 
And,  as  she  careens  to  the  crowding  breeze, 
The  gaping  deep  the  mariner  sees, 

And  the  surging  heareth  loud. 
Was  that  a  face  looking  up  at  him 
With  its  pallid  cheek,  and  its  cold  eyes  dim  ? 
Did  it  beckon  him  down  ?     Did  it  call  his  name  ? 
Now  rolleth  the  ship  the  way  whence  it  came. 

v. 
The  mariner  looked,  and  he  saw  with  dread 

A  face  he  knew  too  well ; 

And  the  cold  eyes  glared,  —  the  eyes  of  the  dead, 
And  its  long  hair  out  on  the  waves  was  spread : 

Was  there  a  tale  to  tell  ? 


150  THE  DROWNED  MARINER. 

The  stout  ship  rocked  with  a  reeling  speed, 
And  the  mariner  groaned,  as  well  he  need ; 
For  ever  down,  as  she  plunged  on  her  side, 
The  dead  face  gleamed  from  the  briny  tide. 

VI. 

Bethink  thee,  mariner,  well  of  the  past ; 

A  voice  calls  loud  for  thee  ; 
There's  a  stifled  prayer,  the  first,  the  last ; 
The  plunging  ship  on  her  beam  is  cast : 

Oh  !  where  shall  thy  burial  be  ? 
Bethink  thee  of  oaths  that  were  lightly  spoken ; 
Bethink  thee  of  vows  that  were  lightly  broken ; 
Bethink  thee  of  all  that  is  dear  to  thee ; 
For  thou  art  alone  on  the  raging  sea. 

VII. 

Alone  in  the  dark,  alone  on  the  wave, 

To  buffet  the  storm  alone  ; 
To  struggle  aghast  at  thy  watery  grave,  — 
To  struggle,  and  feel  there  is  none  to  save : 

God  shield  thee,  helpless  one  ! 
The  stout  limbs  yield,  for  their  strength  is  past ;  • 
The  trembling  hands  on  the  deep  are  cast ; 
The  white  brow  gleams  a  moment  more, 
Then  slowly  sinks  —  the  struggle's  o'er. 

vm. 
Down,  down,  where  the  storm  is  hushed  to  sleep, 

Where  the  sea  its  dirge  shall  swell, 
Where  the  amber- drops  for  thee  shall  weep, 
And  the  rose-lipped  shell  its  music  keep, 

There  shalt  thou  slumber  well. 


"And  when  I  stand  upon  the  shore 
And  look  out  on  its  dreamy  blue."  —  Page  151. 


THE  SEA.  151 

The  coral  and  pearl  lie  heaped  at  thy  side  : 
They  fell  from  the  neck  of  the  beautiful  bride, 
From  the  strong  man's  hand,  from  the  maiden's  brow, 
As  they  slowly  sunk  to  the  wave  below. 

ELIZABETH  OAKES  SMITH. 


THE    SEA. 

I  LOVE  the  sea ;  I  fear  the  sea ; 
It  has  an  untold  charm  for  me ; 
And  when  I  stand  upon  the  shore, 
And  look  out  on  its  dreamy  blue, 

It  says  to  me,  "  I  was  before 
The  hills  arose,  God  spake  to  you." 

I  love  the  sea ;  I  fear  the  sea ; 
Its  terrors  rise,  and  silence  me ; 

For  in  its  voice  of  thunder-tones 
That  shake  the  earth,  and  fill  the  sky, 

I  hear  the  myriad  martyr-groans 
Of  those  who  dared  it  but  to  die. 

Yet  man  will  seize  it  by  the  mane, 
And  dare  his  God  and  it  again  : 

His  spirit  mounts  eternal  snows, 
Would  put  the  curb  on  ocean-waves, 

And  bind  the  fiercest  wind  that  blows ; 
Would  bind  the  elements  as  slaves. 

I  stood  to-day  down  by  the  sea : 
These  are  the  words  it  spake  to  me 

From  tongues  that  whispered  from  its  blue  : 


152  THE  SEA. 

"  My  pulses  beat  with  sun  and  sun  ; 

My  bounds  are  set,  not  so  with  you : 
Your  pulses  beat  with  God  as  one. 

"  My  bounds  are  set  on  every  land, 
From  frozen  zone  to  tropic  strand ; 

And  when  my  waves  shall  beat  no  more, 
Nor  thunder  on  the  brazen  rocks, 

Nor  whisper  softly  on  the  shore, 
Nor  shake  your  ships  with  earthquake-shocks ; 

"  And  when  my  pulses  droop  and  die, 
Lulled  in  a  calm  eternity, 

A  being  of  light  you  will  arise, 
And  spread  your  sails  on  shoreless  seas, 

Beneath  the  blue  of  boundless  skies, 
God's  will  and  yours  alone  to  please. 

"  You  will  arise,  and  songs  will  trill, 
When  my  gigantic  voice  is  still ; 

You  will  proclaim  to  God  on  high, 
*  My  spirit  conquers  land  and  sea  ; 

I  am  your  child,  and  cannot  die : 
My  home  is  in  eternity.'  " 

Thus  spake  to-day  the  talking  sea 
In  clear  and  dulcet  tones  to  me ; 

And  on  its  waters  fell  a  calm 
As  soft  and  sweet  as  shadows  fall, 

Inviting  slumber  and  its  balm, 
With  peaceful  rest,  to  cover  all. 

IRA  D.  VAN  DUZEE. 


THE  FISHERMEN  OF  WE X FORD.  153 

VOICES    OF    THE    SEA. 

AGAIN  I  linger  by  the  Langland  shore, 
And  listen  to  the  music  of  the  sea, 
For  some  familiar  voice  to  speak  to  me 
Out  of  the  deep,  sweet,  sad,  harmonious  roar, 
Whose  murmuring  cadences  sound  like  a  store  9 
Of  loving  words,  treasures  of  memory, 
Once  breathed  into  the  ambient  air,  to  be 
Vibrated  through  the  ages  evermore. 

The  infinite  tides  environ  us :  no  strain 
That  e'er  awakened  human  smiles  or  tears 
Is  lost ;  nor  shall  we  call  it  back  in  vain. 

Beside  the  shore,  amid  the  eternal  spheres, 

Hark  !  the  beloved  voices  once  again 

Rise  from  the  waves  and  winds  to  soothe  mine  ears. 

HERBERT  NEW. 


THE    FISHERMEN    OF    WEXFORD. 

THERE  is  an  old  tradition  sacred  held  in  Wexford 
town, 
That  says,  "  Upon  St.  Martin's  Eve  no  net  shall  be  let 

down, 

No  fishermen  of  Wexford  shall  upon  that  holy  day 
Set  sail,  or  cast  a  line,  within  the  scope  of  Wexford  Bay." 
The  tongue  that  framed  the  order,  or  the  time,  no  one 

could  tell, 

And  no  one  ever  questioned ;  but  the  people  kept  it  well. 
And  never  in  man's  memory  was  fisher  known  to  leave 
The  little  town  of  Wexford  on  the  good  St.  Martin's  Eve. 


154  THE  FISHERMEN  OF   WE X FORD. 

Alas,  alas  for  Wexford  !     Once  upon  that  holy  day 
Came  a  wondrous  shoal  of  herring  to  the  waters  of  the 

bay. 

The  fishers  and  their  families  stood  out  upon  the  beach, 
And  all  day  watched  with  wistful  eyes  the  wealth  they 

might  not  reach. 
Such  sjioal  was  never  seen  before,  and  keen  regrets  went 

round,  — 
Alas,   alas   for   Wexford !     Hark !   what   is   that   grating 

sound? 
The  boats'  keels  on  the  shingle  !  Mothers,  wives,  ye  well 

may  grieve  !  — 
The  fishermen  of  Wexford  mean  to  sail  on  Martin's  Eve  ! 


"  Oh,  stay  ye  !  "  cried  the  women  wild.     "  Stay  !  "  cried 

the  men  white-haired ; 
"And  dare  ye  not  to  do  this  thing  your  fathers  never 

dared. 
No  man  can  thrive  who  tempts  the  Lord  !  "  —  "Away  !" 

they  cried  :  "  the  Lord 

Ne'er  sent  a  shoal  of  fish  but  as  a  fisherman's  reward." 
And  scoffingly  they  said,  "  To-night  our  nets  shall  sweep 

the  bay, 
And  take  the  saint  who  guards  it,  should  he  come  across 

our  way." 
The  keels  have  touched  the  water,  and  the  crews  are  in 

each  boat ; 
And  on  St.  Martin's  Eve  the  Wexford  fishers  are  afloat. 

The  moon  is  shining  coldly  on  the  sea  and  on  the  land, 
On  dark  faces  in  the  fishing-fleet,  and  pale  ones  on  the 
strand, 


THE  FISHERMEN  OF   W EX  FORD.  155 

As  seaward  go  the  daring  boats,  and  heavenward  the 
cries 

Of  kneeling  wives  and  mothers,  with  uplifted  hands  and 
eyes. 

"  O  Holy  Virgin,  be  their  guard  !  "  the  weeping  women 
cried  : 

The  old  men,  sad  and  silent,  watched  the  boats  cleave 
through  the  tide, 

As  past  the  farthest  headland,  past  the  lighthouse,  in  a 
line 

The  fishing-fleet  went  seaward  through  the  phosphor- 
lighted  brine. 

Oh,  pray,  ye  wives  and  mothers  !  All  your  prayers  they 
sorely  need 

To  save  them  from  the  wrath  they've  roused  by  their 
rebellious  deed. 

O  white-haired  men,  and  little  babes,  and  weeping  sweet- 
hearts !  pray 

To  God  to  spare  the  fishermen  to-night  in  Wexford  Bay. 

The  boats  have  reached  good  offing ;  and,  as  out  the  nets 
are  thrown, 

The  hearts  ashore  are  chilled  to  hear  the  soughing  sea- 
wind's  moan : 

Like  to  a  human  heart  that  loved,  and  hoped  for  some 
return, 

To  find  at  last  but  hatred,  so  the  sea-wind  seemed  to 
mourn. 

But  ah,  the  Wexford  fishermen  !  their  nets  did  scarcely 
sink 

One  inch  below  the  foam,  when,  lo  !  the  daring  boatmen 
shrink 


156  THE  FISHERMEN  OF  WEXFORD. 

With  sudden  awe,  and  whitened  lips,  and  glaring  eyes 
agape, 

For  breast-high,  threatening,  from  the  sea,  uprose  a  hu- 
man shape. 

Beyond  them,  in  the  moonlight,  hand  upraised,  and  awful 

.mien, 
Waving  back,  and  pointing  landwards,  breast-high  in  the 

sea  'twas  seen. 
Thrice  it  waved,  and  thrice  it  pointed,  then,  with  clinched 

hand  upraised, 
The  awful  shape  went  down  before  the  fishers  as  they 

gazed. 
Gleaming  whitely  through  the  water,  fathoms  deep  they 

saw  its  frown  ; 
They  saw   the    white    hand    clinched   above    it,   sinking 

slowly  down. 
And  then  there  was  a  rushing  'neath  the  boats,  and  every 

soul 

Was  thrilled  with  greed :  they  knew  it  was  the  seaward- 
going  shoal. 

Defying  the  dread  warning,  every  face  was  sternly  set ; 
And  wildly  did  they  ply  the  oar,   and  wildly  haul  the 

net. 
But   two   boats'  crews  obeyed  the  sign,  —  God-fearing 

men  were  they : 
They  cut  their  lines,  and  left  their  nets,  and  homewards 

sped  away. 
But  darkly  rising  sternwards  did  God's  wrath  in  tempest 

sweep ; 
And   they,  of  all  the  fishermen,  that  night  escaped  the 

deep. 


THE  BEACON-LIGHT.  157 

O  wives  and  mothers,  sweethearts,  sires  !  well  might  ye 

mourn  next  day ; 
For    seventy    fishers'  corpses  •  strewed    the    shores    of 

VVexford  Bay. 

JOHN  BOYLE  O'REILLY. 


TWILIGHT    AT  SEA:    A    FEAGMENT. 

THE  twilight  hours  like  birds  flew  by, 
As  lightly  and  as  free  : 
Ten  thousand  stars  were  in  the  sky, 
Ten  thousand  on  the  sea* 

For  every  wave,  with  dimpled  face, 

That  leaped  upon  the  air, 
Had  caught  a  star  in  its  embrace, 

And  held  it  trembling  there. 

AMELIA  B.  WELBY. 

THE    BEACON-LIGHT. 

DARKNESS  was  deepening  o'er  the  seas, 
And  still  the  hulk  drove  on, 
No  sail  to  answer  to  the  breeze, 
Her  masts  and  cordage  gone  : 
Gloomy  and  drear  her  course  of  fear, 

Each  looked  for  but  a  grave, 
When  full  in  sight  the  beacon-light 
Came  streaming  o'er  the  wave. 

Then  wildly  rose  the  gladdening  shout 

Of  all  that  hardy  crew : 
Boldly  they  put  the  helm  about, 

And  through  the  surf  they  flew. 


158  THE  MIGHT  OF  LO^E. 

Storm  was  forgot,  toil  heeded  not, 

And  loud  the  cheer  they  gave, 
As  full  in  sight  the  beacon-light 

Came  streaming  o'er  the  wave. 

And  gayly  of  the  tale  they  told 

When  they  were  safe  on  shore ; 
How  hearts  had  sunk,  and  hopes  grown  cold, 

Amid  the  billows'  roar ; 
When  not  a  star  had  shone  from  far, 

By  its  pale  beam  to  save, 
Then  full  in  sight  the  beacon-light 

Came  streaming  -o'er  the  wave. 

JULIA  PARDOE. 


THE    MIGHT    OF    LOVE. 

is  work,  good  man,  for  you,  to-day  ! " 
So  the  wife  of  Jamie  cried  ; 
"  For  a  ship  at  Garl'ston,  on  Solway, 
Is  beached,  and  her  coal's  to  be  got  away 
At  the  ebbing-time  of  tide." 

"  And,  lassie,  would  you  have  me  start, 

And  make  for  Solway  sands? 
You  know  that  I,  for  my  poor  part, 
To  help  me  have  nor  horse  nor  cart : 

I  have  only  just  my  hands." 

"  But,  Jamie,  be  not,  till  ye  try, 

Of  honest  chances  balked  ; 
For  mind  ye,  man,  I'll  prophesy, 
That,  while  the  old  ship's  high  and  dry, 

Her  master'll  have  her  calked." 


THE  MIGHT  OF  LOVE.  159 

And  far  and  near  the  men  were  pressed, 

As  the  wife  saw  in  her  dreams. 
"  Ay,"  Jamie  said,  "  she  knew  the  best," 
As  he  went  under,  with  the  rest, 

To  calk  the  open  seams. 

And  while  the  outward-flowing  tide 

Moaned  like  a  dirge  of  woe, 
The  ship's  mate  from  the  beach-belt  cried  : 
"  Her  hull  is  heeling  toward  the  side, 

Where  the  men  are  at  work  below  ! " 

And  the  cartmen,  wild  and  open-eyed, 

Made  for  the  Solway  sands, 
Men  heaving  men  like  coals  aside ; 
For  now  it  was  the  master  cried  : 

"  Run  for  your  lives,  all  hands  !  " 

Like  dead  leaves  in  the  sudden  swell 

Of  the  storm,  upon  that  shout 
Brown  hands  went  fluttering  up,  and  fell, 
As,  grazed  by  the  sinking  planks,  pell-mell 

The  men  came  hurtling  out. 

Thank  God,  thank  God,  the  peril's  past ! 

"  No,  no  !  "  with  blanching  lip, 
The  master  cries.     "  One  man,  the  last, 
Is  caught,  drawn  in,  and  grappled  fast 

Betwixt  the  sands  and  the  ship  ! 

"  Back,  back,  all  hands  !     Get  what  you  can,  — 

Or  pick,  or  oar,  or  stave." 
This  way  and  that  they  breathless  ran, 
And  came  and  fell  to,  every  man, 

To  dig  him  out  of  his  grave. 


160  THE  MIGHT  OF  LOVE. 

"  Too  slow  !  too  slow  !     The  weight  will  kill ! 

Up  !  make  your  hawsers  fast  !  " 
Then  every  man  took  hold  with  a  will  — 
A  long  pull  and  a  strong  pull  —  still 

With  never  a  stir  of  the  mast ! 

"Out  with  the  cargo  !  "     Then  they  go 

At  it  with  might  and  main. 
"  Back  to  the  sands  !     Too  slow  !  too  slow  ! 
He's  dying,  dying  !  —  yet,  heave  ho  ! 

Heave  ho  there,  once  again  ! " 

And  now  on  the  beach  at  Garl'ston  stood 

A  woman,  whose  pale  brow  wore 
Its  love  like  a  queenly  crown ;  and  the  blood 
Ran  curdled  and  cold  as  she  watched  the  flood 
That  was  racing  in  to  the  shore. 

On,  on,  it  trampled,  stride  by  stride  : 

It  was  death  to  stand  and  wait ; 
And  all  that  were  free  threw  picks  aside, 
And  came  up  dripping  out  o'  the  tide, 
And  left  the  doomed  to  his  fate. 

But,  lo  !  the  great  sea  trembling  stands ; 

Then,  crawling  under  the  ship, 
As  if  for  the  sake  of  the  two  white  hands 
Reaching  over  the  wild  wet  sands, 

Slackened  that  terrible  grip. 

"  Come  to  me,  Jamie  !     God  grants  the  way," 

She  cries,  "for  lovers  to  meet." 
And  the  sea,  so  cruel,  grew  kind,  they  say, 
And,  wrapping  him  tenderly  round  with  spray, 
Laid  him  dead  at  her  feet. 

ALICE  GARY. 


BREAK,   BREAK,   BREAK.  161 

BY    THE    SEASIDE. 

RUN  in,  glad  waves,  scooped  in  transparent  she" 
Which  catch  soft  lights  of  emerald  ere  they  br 
Let  the  small  ripple  fret  the  sand,  and  make 
The  faintest  chime  of  music,  such  as  dwells 
Far  down  within  the  sea-conch's  murmuring  cells ; 
While  hovering  o'er  the  spray  the  white  birds  wet 
Their  wings,  and  shouting  fishers  draw  the  net 
To  land,  and  far  sails  glitter  on  the  swells. 
'Tis  bliss  to  rest  the  while  these  soft  blue  skies 
Breathe  over  earth  their  benison  of  peace, 
To  feel  these  lowly  forms  enchant  the  eyes, 
And  grow  into  the  mind  by  slow  degrees, 
Till,  breathless  as  a  woodland  pool,  it  lies, 
And  sleeps  above  its  sleeping  images. 

JAMES  DRUMMOND  BURNS. 

BREAK,  BREAK,  BREAK. 

BREAK,  break,  break, 
On  thy  cold  gray  stones,  O  Sea  ! 
And  I  would  that  my  tongue  could  utter 
The  thoughts  that  arise  in  me. 

Oh,  well  for  the  fisherman's  boy, 

That  he  shouts  with  his  sister  at  play  ! 

Oh,  well  for  the  sailor-lad, 

That  he  sings  in  his  boat  on  the  bay  ! 

And  the  stately  ships  go  on 

To  their  haven  under  the  hill ; 
But  oh  for  the  touch  of  a  vanished  hand, 

And  the  sound  of  a  voice  that  is  still ! 


1 6 2  MEE  TING  A  T  NIGHT. 

Break,  break,  break, 

At  the  foot  of  thy  crags,  O  Sea  ! 
But  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead 

Will  never  come  back  to  me. 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 

MEETING    AT    NIGHT. 

THE  gray  sea  and  the  long  black  land, 
And  the  yellow  half-moon  large  and  low, 
And  the  startled  little  waves  that  leap 
In  fiery  ringlets  from  their  sleep, 
As  I  gain  the  cove  with  pushing  prow, 
And  quench  its  speed  in  the  slushy  sand. 

Then  a  mile  of  warm  sea-scented  beach, 

Three  fields  to  cross  till  a  farm  appears, 

A  tap  at  the  pane,  the  quick  sharp  scratch 

And  blue  spurt  of  a  lighted  match, 

And  a  voice  less  loud,  through  its  joys  and  fears. 

Than  the  two  hearts  beating  each  to  each. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 


A    BALLAD    OF    NANTUCKET. 

"  T  T  THERE  go  you,  pretty  Maggie, 
VV    Where  go  you  in  the  rain?  " 

"  I  go  to  ask  the  sailors 

Who  sailed  the  Spanish  Main 

"  If  they  have  seen  my  Willie, 

If  he'll  come  back  to  me  : 
It  is  so  sad  to  have  him 

A-sailing  on  the  sea  !  " 


A   BALLAD   OF  NANTUCKET.  163 

"  O  Maggie,  pretty  Maggie  ! 

Turn  back  to  yonder  town  : 
Your  Willie's  in  the  ocean, 

A  hundred  fathoms  down. 

"  His  hair  is  turned  to  sea-kelp, 
His  eyes  are  changed  to  stones ; 

And  twice  two  years  have  knitted 
The  coral  round  his  bones. 

"  The  blossoms  and  the  clover 

Shall  bloom  and  bloom  again, 
But  never  shall  your  lover 

Come  o'er  the  Spanish  Main.-" 

But  Maggie  never  heeded  ; 

For  mournfully  said  she, 
"  It  is  so  sad  to  have  him 

A-sailing  on  the  sea  !  " 

She  left  me  in  the  darkness ; 

I  heard  the  sea-gull's  screech ; 
And  burly  winds  were  growling 

With  breakers  on  the  beach. 

The  bells  of  old  Nantucket  — 

What  touching  things  they  said 
When  Maggie  lay  a-sleeping 

With  lilies  round  her  head. 

The  parson  preached  a  sermon, 
And  prayed  and  preached  again  ; 

But  she  had  gone  to  Willie 
Across  the  Spanish  Main. 


1 64  CALM  AT  SEA. 


CALM    AT    SEA. 

SILENCE  deep  rules  o'er  the  waters, 
Calmly  slumbering  lies  the  main, 
While  the  sailor  views  with  trouble 
Nought  but  one  vast  level  plain. 

Not  a  zephyr  is  in  motion, 

Silence  fearful  as  the  grave  : 
In  the  mighty  waste  of  ocean 

Sunk  to  rest  is  every  wave. 

JOHANN  WOLFGANG  VON  GOETHE. 
TRANSLATION  OF  E.  A.  BOWRING 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    GALLEY. 

YE  mariners  of  Spain, 
Bend  strongly  on  your  oars, 
And  bring  my  love  again, 

For  he  lies  among  the  Moors. 

Ye  galleys  fairly  built, 

Like  castles  on  the  sea, 
Oh  !  great  will  be  your  guilt, 

If  ye  bring  him  not  to  me. 

The  wind  is  blowing  strong, 
The  breeze  will  aid  your  oars  : 

Oh  !  swiftly  My  along, 

For  he  lies  among  the  Moors. 

The  sweet  breeze  of  the  sea 
Cools  every  cheek  but  mine  : 

Hot  is  its  breath  to  me 
As  I  gaze  upon  the  brine. 


THE  SEA — IN  CALM.  165 

Lift  up,  lift  up,  your  sail, 

And  bend  upon  your  oars  : 
Oh  !  lose  not  the  fair  gale, 

For  he  lies  among  the  Moors. 

It  is  a  narrow  strait, 

I  see  the  blue  hills  over : 
Your  coming  I'll  await, 

And  thank  you  for  my  lover. 

To  Mary  I  will  pray 

While  ye  bend  upon  your  oars  : 
'Twill  be  a  blessed  day 

If  ye  fetch  him  from  the  Moors. 

LOCKHART'S  SPANISH  BALLADS. 


THE    SEA,    IN    CALM. 

T   OOK  what  jmmortal  floods  the  sunset  pours 

.L/  Upon  us  !     Mark  how  still  (as  though  in  dreams 

Bound)  the  once  wild  and  terrible  ocean  seems  ! 

How  silent  are  the  winds  !     No  billow  roars, 

But  all  is  tranquil  as  Elysian  shores. 

The  silver  margin  which  aye  runneth  round 

The  moon-enchanted  sea  hath  here  no  sound  : 

Even  echo  speaks  not  on  the  radiant  moors. 

What !  is  the  giant  of  the  ocean  dead, 

Whose  strength  was  all  unmatched  beneath  the  sun? 

No  :  he  reposes.     Now  his  toils  are  done, 

More  quiet  than  the  babbling  brooks  is  he. 

So  mightiest  powers  by  deepest  calms  are  fed, 

And  sleep,  how  oft,  in  things  that  gentlest  be  ! 

BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


1 66  THE  PILOT-BOAT. 

THE    PILOT-BOAT. 

I.      EVENING. 

/rT>HERE'S  a  schooner  in  the  bay 
A       With  a  signal  at  her  fore ; 
And  I  hear  the  pilot  say, 
"  Though  a  squall  may  come  to-night, 
We  shall  get  on  board  all  right ; 
And  the  tide  begins  to  flow  at  break  of  day. 
Shove  her  off,  lads  !  "  cries  he  : 
"  We've  a  craft  that's  fit  for  sea." 

And  the  ripples  on  the  shore 
Murmur  softly  as  they  run 

Through  the  crimson  evening  light, 
While  the  father  and  the  son 
Sail  away. 

II.      NIGHT. 

When  the  cliff  and  wave  grow  dark, 

In  a  cottage  by  the  strand 
See  a  glimmering  taper-spark 
Where  the  pilot's  wife  is  sewing, 

With  the  children  all  asleep  ; 
But  in  gloomy  heaven  above  no  star  is  showing. 
Ha  !  the  lightning,  and  a  crash 

Like  the  downfall  of  the  skies, 
Rushing  rain,  roaring  deep, 
Sudden  gale  with  fury  blowing, 

Out  of  nothing  at  each  flash 
Leap  the  dreadful  sea  and  land. 
Was  that  the  wind  she  heard  ?  or  —  hark  ! 
Shouts  and  cries  ? 


COME   O^ER    THE  SEA.  167 

III.      MORNING. 

Tis  a  morn  remorseful,  pale, 

For  the  frenzy  overpast ; 
With  a  sullen  sinking  gale, 
Flying  clouds,  torn  and  shattered, 
And  a  dismal  gleam  of  day  among  them  cast. 
On  the  rough  perturbed  ocean 
Rolls  a  ship  in  helpless  motion  : 
She  has  neither  sail  nor  mast, 
Lies  keel  upwards,  bruised  and  battered ; 
And  the  son  and  father  —  these 
Shall  no  more  on  earthly  seas 
Ever  float. 

WILLIAM  ALLINGHAM. 


COME    O'ER    THE    SEA. 

COME  o'er  the  sea, 
Maiden,  with  me, 

Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows : 
Seasons  may  roll ; 
But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same  where'er  it  goes. 
Let  fate  frown  on,  so  we  love  and  part  not : 
'Tis  life  where  thou  art,  'tis  death  where  thou  art  not. 
Then  come  o'er  the  sea, 
Maiden,  with  me, 

Come  wherever  the  wild  wind  blows  : 
Seasons  may  roll ; 
But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same  where'er  it  goes. 


1 68  GOD  AT  SEA. 

Was  not  the  sea 

Made  for  the  free, 
Land  for  courts  and  chains  alone  ? 

Here  we  are  slaves, 

But  on  the  waves 
Love  and  liberty's  all  our  own  : 
No  eye  to  watch,  and  no  tongue  to  wound  us, 
All  earth  forgot,  and  all  heaven  around  us. 

Then  come  o'er  the  sea, 

Maiden,  with  me, 
Mine  through  sunshine,  storm,  and  snows : 

Seasons  may  roll, 

But  the  true  soul 
Burns  the  same  where'er  it  goes. 

THOMAS  MOORE. 

GOD    AT    SEA. 

THE  sea  is  deep,  the  sea  is  broad ; 
Yet  goeth  forth  the  might  of  God, 
Deeper  than  deepest  plummet-sound, 
And  wider  than  earth's  watery  round. 

So  many  fishes  in  the  sea, 
The  Lord  on  all  looks  lovingly, 
Gives  all  their  daily  food,  and  still 
He  leads  them  up  and  down  at  will. 

How  high  the  windy  billows  leap  ! 
If  he  commands,  how  still  they  sleep  ! 
Drawn  by  his  faithful,  tender  hand, 
Lo  !  smallest  ship  finds  farthest  land. 

JOHN  JAMES  PIATT. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  WILHELM  HEY. 


TENDIMUS  IN  LATIUM.  169 

THE    RING    OP    THE    LAST    DOGE. 

I  SAW  the  widowed  Lady  of  the  Sea 
Crowned  with  corals  and  seaweed  and  shells, 
That  her  long  anguish  and  adversity 

Had  seemed  to  drown  in  plays  and  festivals. 
I  said,  "Where  is  thy  ancient  fealty  fled? 
Where  is  the  ring  with  which  Manin  did  wed 
His  bride?"     With  tearful  visage  she, 
"An  eagle  with  two  beaks  tore  it  from  me. 
Suddenly  I  arose,  and  how  it  came 
I  know  not ;  but  I  heard  my  bridegroom's  name." 
Poor  widow  !  'tis  not  he.     Yet  he  may  bring  — 
Who  knows  ?  —  back  to  the  bride  her  long-lost  ring. 

FRANCESCO  BALL'  ONGARO.    TRANSLATION  OF  HOWELLS. 


TENDIMUS    IN    LATIUM. 

THE  blue  wave  curls  about  the  prow ; 
The  light  breeze  ripples  o'er  the  sea ; 
The  clouds  sweep  gently  o'er  the  brow 
Of  fair  trinacrian  Sicily  ; 
And  yonder  lies  the  yellow  sand 
Which  girds  the  promised  Latian  land. 

Brave  hearts,  across  the  stormy  deep 
You  hold  the  faith  you  pledged  of  old ; 
For  you  the  gods  in  waiting  keep 
Rich  lands  and  herds  and  sunny  gold ; 
For  yonder  gleams  the  yellow  sand, 
Our  fated  home,  the  Latian  land. 

There  sterner  walls  than  Troy's  shall  rise, 
And  people  strong  in  arms  shall  dwell ; 
And,  canopied  by  happy  skies, 


170  FROM  "IN  ME  MORI  AM." 

For  us  and  ours  shall  all  be  well. 
Gleam  brighter  then,  O  yellow  sand  ! 
Come  speedily,  O  Latian  land  ! 

O  promised  rest !     O  end  of  toil ! 
O  country  sought  for  long  in  vain  ! 
Soon  shall  we  reach  thy  favored  soil, 
Soon  find  the  guerdon  of  our  pain  ; 
For  nearer  seems  that  yellow  sand, 
And  nearer  grows  the  Latian  land. 

No  more  shall  dread  of  danger  come  ; 
No  more  shall  threats  of  storm  increase ; 
Within  that  sacred,  destined  home 
At  last,  at  last,  we  rest  in  peace, 
Beyond  the  belt  of  yellow  sand, 
In  that  oft-promised  Latian  land  ! 

SAMUEL  WILLOUGHBY  DUFFIELD. 


FROM    "IN    MEMORIAM." 

FAIR  ship,  that  from  the  Italian  shore 
Sailest  the  placid  ocean-plains 
With  my  lost  Arthur's  loved  remains, 
Spread  thy  full  wings,  and  waft  him  o'er ! 

So  draw  him  home  to  those  that  mourn 
In  vain  :  a  favorable  speed 
Ruffle  thy  mirrored  mast,  and  lead 

Through  prosperous  floods  his  holy  urn  ! 

All  night  no  ruder  air  perplex 

Thy  sliding  keel,  till  Phosphor,  bright, 


FROM  "IN  MEMORIAM."  171 

As  our  pure  love,  through  early  light 
Shall  glimmer  on  the  dewy  decks  ! 

Sphere  all  your  lights  around,  above  ; 

Sleep,  gentle  heavens,  before  the  prow ; 

Sleep,  gentle  winds,  as  he  sleeps  now, 
My  friend,  the  brother  of  my  love  — 

My  Arthur,  whom  I  shall  not  see 

Till  all  my  widowed  race  be  run  ; 

Dear  as  the  mother  to  the  son, 
More  than  my  brothers  are  to  me  ! 


I  hear  the  noise  about  thy  keel ; 

I  hear  the  bell  struck  in  the  night ; 

I  see  the  cabin-window  bright ; 
I  see  the  sailor  at  the  wheel. 

Thou  bringest  the  sailor  to  his  wife, 
And  travelled  men  from  foreign  lands, 
And  letters  unto  trembling  hands, 

And  thy  dark  freight,  —  a  vanished  life. 

So  bring  him  :  we  have  idle  dreams ; 
This  look  of  quiet  flatters  thus 
Our  home-bred  fancies  :  oh  !  to  us, 

The  fools  of  habit,  sweeter  seems 

To  rest  beneath  the  clover-sod 

That  takes  the  sunshine  and  the  rains, 
Or  where  the  kneeling  hamlet  drains 

The  chalice  of  the  grapes  of  God, 


172  FROM  "IN  MEMORIAL." 

Than  if  with  thee  the  roaring  wells 
Should  gulf  him  fathom  deep  in  brine, 
And  hands  so  often  clasped  in  mine 

Should  toss  with  tangle  and  with  shells. 


Thou  comest  much  wept  for :  such  a  breeze 
Compelled  thy  canvas,  and  my  prayer 
Was  as  the  whisper  of  an  air, 

To  breathe  thee  over  lonely  seas. 

For  I  in  spirit  saw  thee  move 

Through  circles  of  the  bounding  sky, 
Week  after  week ;  the  days  go  by  : 

Come  quick  !  thou  bringest  all  I  love. 

Henceforth,  wherever  thou  mayst  roam, 
My  blessing,  like  a  line  of  light, 
Is  on  the  waters  day  and  night, 

And  like  a  beacon  guards  thee  home. 

So  may  whatever  tempest  mars 

Mid-ocean  spare  thee,  sacred  bark, 
And  balmy  drops  in  summer  dark 

Slide  from  the  bosom  of  the  stars. 

So  kind  an  office  hath  been  done, 

Such  precious  relics  brought  by  thee,  — 
The  dust  of  him  I  shall  not  see 

Till  all  my  widowed  race  be  run. 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 


FROM  "THE    TRIUMPH  OF  TIME."  173 

AT    HOLYHEAD. 

O  NEPTUNE,  Neptune  !  must  I  still 
Be  here  detained  against  my  will? 
Is  this  your  justice,  when  I'm  come 
Above  two  hundred  miles  from  home, 
O'er  mountains  steep,  o'er  dusty  plains, 
Half-choked  with  dust,  half-drowned  with  rains, 
Only  your  godship  to  implore 
To  let  me  kiss  your  other  shore  ? 
A  boon  so  small ;  but  I  may  weep 
While  you're,  like  Baal,  fast  asleep. 

JONATHAN  SWIFT. 


FROM    "THE    TRIUMPH    OP    TIME." 

I  WILL  go  back  to  the  great  sweet  mother,  — 
Mother  and  lover  of  men, — the  Sea. 
I  will  go  down  to  her,  I,  and  none  other, 
Close  with  her,  kiss  her,  and  mix  her  with  me ; 
Cling  to  her,  strive  with  her,  hold  her  fast. 
O  fair  white  mother,  in  days  long  past 
Born  without  sister,  born  without  brother, 
Let  free  my  soul  as  thy  soul  is  free  ! 

O  fair,  green-girdled  mother  of  mine, 
Sea,  that  art  clothed  with  the  sun  and  the  rain : 
Thy  sweet,  hard  kisses  are  strong  like  wine ; 
Thy  large  embraces  are  keen  like  pain. 
Save  me,  and  hide  me  with  all  thy  waves  ; 
Find  me  one  grave  of  thy  thousand  graves, 
These  pure,  cold,  populous  graves  of  thine, 
Wrought  without  hand  in  a  world  without  stain. 


I  74          FROM  "  THE    TRIUMPH  OF   TIME." 

I  shall  sleep,  and  move  with  the  moving  ships, 
Change  as  the  winds  change,  veer  in  the  tide ; 
My  lips  will  feast  on  the  foam  of  thy  lips ; 
I  shall  rise  with  thy  rising,  with  thee  subside ; 
Sleep,  and  not  know  if  she  be,  if  she  were  — 
Filled  full  with  life  to  the  eyes  and  the  hair, 
As  a  rose  is  full-filled  to  the  rose-leaf  tips 
With  splendid  summer  and  perfume  and  pride. 


This  woven  raiment  of  nights  and  days, 
Were  it  once  cast  off,  and  unwound  from  me, 
Naked  and  glad  would  I  walk  in  thy  ways  — 
Alive,  and  aware  of  thy  ways  and  thee, 
Clear  of  the  whole  world,  hidden  at  home, 
Clothed  with  the  green,  and  crowned  with  the  foam, 
A  pulse  of  the  life  of  thy  straits  and  bays, 
A  vein  in  the  heart  of  the  streams  of  the  sea. 


Fair  mother,  fed  with  the  lives  of  men, 
Thou  art  subtle  and  cruel  of  heart,  men  say ; 
Thou  hast  taken,  and  shalt  not  render  again ; 
Thou  art  full  of  thy  dead,  and  cold  as  they. 
But  death  is  the  worst  that  comes  of  thee  ; 
Thou  art  fed  with  our  dead,  O  mother,  O  Sea  ! 
But  when  hast  thou  fed  on  our  hearts  ?  or  when, 
Having  given  us  love,  hast  thou  taken  away? 

O  tender-hearted,  O  perfect  lover  ! 

Thy  lips  are  bitter,  and  sweet  thine  heart. 

The  hopes  that  hurt,  and  the  dreams  that  hover, 

Shall  they  not  vanish  away,  and  depart  ? 


AT  SEA.  175 

But  thou,  thou  art  sure,  thou  art  older  than  earth  ; 
Thou  art  strong  for  death,  and  fruitful  of  birth ; 
Thy  depths  conceal,  and  thy  gulfs  discover 
From  the  first  thou  wert ;  in  the  end  thou  art. 

ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


THE    SEA. 

IT  surged  and  foamed  on  cold  gray  lands, 
No  life  was  in  its  waves  ; 
It  rolled  and  raged  on  barren  strands, 

Or  thundered  into  caves  ; 
And  yet  it  sang  a  glorious  song, 
An  ancient  paean  loud  and  long. 

It  broke  upon  the  new-made  beach, 

That  roaring,  restless  sea  ; 
The  only  burden  of  its  speech, 

One  word,  —  eternity ; 
And  ever  sang  that  glorious  song, 
An  ancient  paean  loud  and  long. 

EDMUND  SANDARS. 
AT    SEA. 

MIDNIGHT  in  drear  New  England  ; 
'Tis  a  driving  storm  of  snow  : 
How  the  casement  clicks  and  rattles, 
And  the  wind  keeps  on  to  blow  ! 

For  a  thousand  leagues  of  coast-line, 

In  fitful  flurries  and  starts, 
The  wild  North-Easter  is  knocking 

At  lonely  windows  and  hearts. 


176  AT  SEA. 

Of  a  night  like  this,  how  many 
Must  sit  by  the  hearth,  like  me, 

Hearing  the  stormy  weather, 
And  thinking  of  those  at  sea  ! 

Of  the  hearts  chilled  through  with  watching, 

The  eyes  that  wearily  blink, 
Through  the  blinding  gale  and  snow-drift, 

For  the  Lights  of  Navesink  ! 

How  fare  it,  my  friend,  with  you  ? 

If  I've  kept  your  reckoning  aright, 
The  brave  old  ship  must  be  due 

On  our  dreary  coast  to-night. 

The  fireside  fades  before  me, 
The  chamber  quiet  and  warm ; 

And  I  see  the  gleam  of  her  lanterns 
In  the  wild  Atlantic  storm. 

Like  a  dream,  'tis  all  around  me,  — 
The  gale,  with  its  steady  boom, 

And  the  crest  of  every  roller 
Torn  into  mist  and  spume, 

The  sights  and  the  sounds  of  ocean 
On  a  night  of  peril  and  gloom. 

The  shroud  of  snow  and  of  spoon-drift, 

Driving  like  mad  a-lee, 
And  the  huge  black  hulk  that  wallows 

Deep  in  the  trough  of  the  sea, 

The  creak  of  cabin  and  bulkhead, 
The  wail  of  rigging  and  mast, 


AT  SEA.  177 


The  roar  of  the  shrouds  as  she  rises 
From  a  deep  lee-roll  to  the  blast, 

The  sullen  throb  of  the  engine, 
Whose  iron  heart  never  tires, 

The  swarthy  faces  that  redden 
By  the  glare  of  his  caverned  fires, 

The  binnacle  slowly  swaying, 
And  nursing  the  faithful  steel, 

And  the  grizzled  old  quartermaster, 
His  horny  hands  on  the  wheel. 

I  can  see  it,  the  little  cabin, 

Plainly  as  if  I  were  there, 
The  chart  on  the  old  green  table, 

The  book,  and  the  empty  chair. 

On  the  deck  we  have  trod  together, 
A  patient  and  manly  form, 

To  and  fro,  by  the  foremast, 
Is  pacing  in  sleet  and  storm. 

Since  her  keel  first  struck  cold  water 
By  the  stormy  Cape's  clear  light, 

'Tis  little  of  sleep  or  slumber 

Hath  closed  o'er  that  watchful  sight 

And  a  hundred  lives  are  hanging 
On  eye  and  on  heart  to-night. 

Would  that  to-night  beside  him 
I  walked  the  watch  on  her  deck, 

Recalling  the  legends  of  ocean, 
Of  ancient  battle  and  wreck  ! 


178  THE   CORAL-GROVE. 

But  the  stout  old  craft  is  rolling 

A  hundred  leagues  a-lee,  — 
Fifty  of  snow-wreathed  hillside, 

And  fifty  of  foaming  sea. 

I  cannot  hail  him,  nor  press  him 
By  the  hearty  and  true  right  hand  : 

I  can  but  murmur,  God  bless  him, 
And  bring  him  safe  to  the  land  ! 

And  send  him  the  best  of  weather, 
That,  ere  many  suns  shall  shine, 

We  may  sit  by  the  hearth  together, 
And  talk  about  "  Auld  Lang  Syne  "  ! 

HENRY  HOWARD  BROWNELL, 


THE    CORAL-GROVE. 

DEEP  in  the  wave  is  a  coral-grove, 
Where  the  purple  mullet  and  goldfish  rove, 
Where  the  sea-flower  spreads  its  leaves  of  blue 
That  never  are  wet  with  falling  dew, 
But  in  bright  and  changeful  beauty  shine 
Far  down  in  the  green  and  glassy  brine. 
The  floor  is  of  sand,  like  the  mountain-drift, 
And  the  pearl-shells  spangle  the  flinty  snow ; 
From  coral-rocks  the  sea-plants  lift 
Their  boughs  where  the  tides  and  billows  flow. 
The  water  is  calm  and  still  below, 
For  the  winds  and  waves  are  absent  there  ; 
And  the  sands  are  bright  as  the  stars  that  glow 
In  the  motionless  fields  of  upper  air. 


THE    VOICE  AND    THE  PEAK.  179 

There,  with  its  moving  blade  of  green, 

The  sea-Bag  streams  through  the  silent  water ; 

And  the  crimson  leaf  of  the  dulse  is  seen 

To  blush  like  a  banner  bathed  in  slaughter. 

There,  with  a  light  and  easy  motion, 

The  fan-coral  sweeps  through  the  clear  deep  sea ; 

And  the  yellow  and  scarlet  tufts  of  ocean 

Are  bending  like  corn  on  the  upland  lea ; 

And  life  in  rare  and  beautiful  forms 

Is  sporting  amid  those  bowers  of  stone, 

And  is  safe  when  the  wrathful  spirit  of  storms 

Has  made  the  top  of  the  wave  his  own. 

And  when  the  ship  from  his  fury  flies, 

Where  the  myriad  voices  of  ocean  roar ; 

When  the  wind-god  frowns  in  the  murky  skies, 

And  demons  are  waiting  the  wreck  on  shore,  — 

Then  far  below,  in  the  peaceful  sea, 

The  purple  mullet  and  goldfish  rove, 

Where  the  waters  murmur  tranquilly 

Through  the  bending  twigs  of  the  'coral-grove. 

JAMES  GATES  PERCIVAL. 

THE    VOICE    AND    THE    PEAK. 

THE  voice  and  the  Peak 
Far  over  summit  and  lawn, 
The  lone  glow  and  the  long  roar 
Green-rushing  from  the  rosy  thrones  of  dawn ! 

All  night  have  I  heard  the  voice 
Rave  over  the  rocky  bar : 
But  thou  wert  silent  in  heaven, 
Above  thee  glided  the  star. 


I  So  THE    VOICE  AND    THE  PEAK. 

"  Hast  thou  no  voice,  O  Peak 
That  standest  high  above  all  ?  " 
"I  am  the  voice  of  the  Peak : 
"  I  roar  and  rave,  for  I  fall. 

"  A  thousand  voices  go 

To  north,  south,  east,  and  west : 

They  leave  the  heights,  and  are  troubled, 

And  moan,  and  sink  to  their  rest. 

"  The  fields  are  fair  beside  them  ; 

The  chestnut  towers  in  his  bloom  : 

But  they  —  they  feel  the  desire  of  the  deep 

Fall,  and  follow  their  doom. 

"  The  deep  has  power  on  the  height, 
And  the  height  has  power  on  the  deep : 
They  are  raised  for  ever  and  ever, 
And  sink  again  into  sleep." 

Not  raised  for  ever  and  ever ; 

But,  when  their  cycle  is  o'er, 

The  valley,  the  voice,  the  peak,  the  star, 

Pass,  and  are  found  no  more. 

The  Peak  is  high,  and  flushed 

At  his  highest  with  sunrise  fire  : 

The  peak  is  high,  and  the  stars  are  high, 

And  the  thought  of  a  man  is  higher. 

A  voice  below  the  voice, 
And  a  height  beyond  the  height : 
Our  hearing  is  not  hearing, 
And  our  seeing  is  not  sight. 


TO  A   FOSSIL   SHELL.  181 

The  voice  and  the  Peak 
Far  into  heaven  withdrawn, 
The  lone  glow  and  the  long  roar 
Green-rushing  from  the  rosy  thrones  of  dawn  ! 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 

TO    A    FOSSIL    SHELL. 

WORN  little  shell,  that  long  ago 
Didst  lie  on  some  primeval  beach, 
And  hear  the  rhythmic  waters  flow 

When  waves  swelled  up  the  untrodden  reach, 
Dost  still  the  murmuring  cadence  know 

That  winds  and  waves  to  sea-shells  teach  ? 
Or  did  the  change  that  robbed  thy  glow 
Steal  all  thy  pretty  trick  of  speech  ? 

As  one  who  wandering,  wrapped  in  thought, 

Beneath  some  vaulted  roof,  alone, 
Has  to  his  ear  far  whispers  brought, 

Resounding  from  the  arched  stone, 
-And  startles,  as  the  words  are  caught, 

To  find  his  path  has  touched,  unknown, 
The  spot  where  cunning  art  has  taught 

The  walls  to  yield  each  buried  tone : 

So,  when  unto  my  quickening  ear 

Thy  brown  and  ragged  lips  I  bring, 
My  fancy  thrills  the  throb  to  hear 

Of  rushing  winds,  and  waves  that  sing, 
And  cavern  echoes,  low  but  clear, 

And  rapid  beat  of  sea-bird's  wing,  — 
The  pulse  of  some  forgotten  year, 

Down  humming  with  melodic  ring. 


182  THE  SINGERS   OF  THE  SEA. 

O  whispering-gallery  of  mine, 

Thou  little  convoluted  shell ! 
Still  echo,  through  thy  spiral  fine, 

Along  thy  stony,  winding  cell, 
Deep  murmurs  from  the  early  brine, 

When  Triton  rode  the  watery  swell, 
When  Neptune  swayed  his  triple  tine, 

And  Proteus  wrought  his  magic  spell. 

And  if  thou  sing'st  to  none  but  me, 

And  others  call  my  fancies  vain, 
Not  less  thy  tones  delight  shall  be, 

And  echo  on  their  low  refrain ; 
Still  sing  thy  tale,  and  prophesy 

Of  calm  and  tempest,  joy  and  pain : 
Though  Nereids  have  fled  the  sea, 

The  deeps  that  gave  them  birth  remain. 

"  RUTH  EMERSON. 


THE    SINGERS    OF    THE    SEA. 

OH,  many  voices  has  the  sea  ! 
A  chorus  of  rare  melody : 
The  solemn  bass,  the  lighter  tone, 
Flowing  in  tuneful  unison, 
Without  a  discord  ;  sounding  high 
Above  the  lark  that  sweeps  the  sky, 
Or  striking  with  tumultuous  roar 
Against  the  frowning  rocky  shore. 
In  quiet  bays,  with  dreamy  song 
To  fragrant  airs  it  glides  along, 
Or,  hiding  in  some  cloister  dim, 
Nun-like,  it  chants  a  vesper-hymn. 


ON  THE  STRAND.  183 

In  liquid  tones,  in  angry  swells, 
The  joys  and  woes  of  earth  it  tells  : 
For  many  voices  has  the  sea, 
Though  never  more  than  one  to  me. 

O  Love  !  the  singers  of  the  sea 

Can  never  hope  to  rival  thee  ; 

For  every  land  and  every  zone, 

Rocks,  hills,  and  vales,  are  all  thine  own. 

Dirge,  lullaby,  or  canticle, 

Sweet  carol,  or  funereal  knell, 

Earth's  passions  in  their  rise  and  fall  — 

O  Love,  thou  hast  control  of  all ! 

The  mighty  voices  of  the  main 

Ere  long  will  cease  their  loud  refrain, 

And  all  the  passions  in  its  breast 

Be  hushed  to  Everlasting  rest. 

And  though  to-day  it  singeth  clear, 

One  voice,  one  song,  is  all  I  hear, 

All  other  sounds  far,  far  above,  — 

The  sweet  undying  song  of  Love. 

JOSEPHINE  POLLARD. 
ON    THE    STRAND. 

HOMEWARD  the  gull  is  flying, 
And  twilight  darkens  fast 
Across  the  wet  sea-margin 
Where  sunlight  lingers  last. 

The  shadowy  wings  flit  over, 

And  skim  along  the  deep  ; 
And  veiled  in  cloud,  and  silent, 

Like  dreams,  the  islands  sleep. 


1 84  THE   TEMPLE. 

I  hear  from  plashy  marshes 

A  strange,  mysterious  cry ; 
A  lonesome  bird  is  calling  : 

How  like  to  that  am  I  ! 

And  now  the  rain  falls  softly, 

And  now  the  wood  is  still ; 
But  words  which  ocean  whispers 

Are  open  to  my  will. 

SAMUEL  W.  DUFFIELD.    FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  THEODORE  STORM. 


THE    TEMPLE. 

HOW  can  we  tell  in  words  the  wondrous  story, 
Solemn  and  mystic,  that  mysterious  night 
When  the  great  waves,  gorgeous  with  golden  glory, 
Crashed  in  a  flood  of  crescent  foaming  light ! 

Far  in  the  mist,  the  mighty  breakers  crested, 
Crested  and  tipt  with  glints  and  gleams  of  gold, 
Darkly  and  deep  swept  on,  and  plunged,  and  rested 
On  the  soft  sands  where  slow  their  jewels  rolled  — 

Gems  from  the  raiment  round  that  sacred  altar, 
Where  the  grand  priesthood  of  the  choral  sea, 
Chanting  their  praises,  pause  and  fall  and  falter, 
Bowed  to  the  Power  that  fills  infinity. 

Then  the  gray  mists  above  the  dim  earth  sweeping 
Burned  with  strange  brightness,  gold  and  rose  and  green ; 
Brightened  and  parted ;  and,  their  calm  watch  keeping, 
Through  the  blue  distance  shone  the  stars  serene. 


THE  SAILOR'S   CONSOLATION.  185 

Types  of  that  love  above  the  world  uplifted, 
Friendly  they  beamed,  benign  and  still  and  far, 
Till  the  great  curtain  closed,  and  dark  clouds  drifted 
Over  the  glory  where  our  longings  are. 

Wondering,  we  wandered  ;  still  above,  around  us, 
Into  our  souls  the  solemn  meanings  shine  : 
Centre  and  secret  of  the  spells  which  bound  us 
Shine  the  sublimities  of  Power  Divine. 


Holy  of  holies,  consecrate  and  gilded, 
'Semple  and  altar,  shrine  of  light  and  air ! 
Under  this  dome  the  Master-Builder  builded  : 
Kneel  with  his  waves ;  in  silence  worship  there  ! 

ANONYMOUS. 


THE    SAILOR'S    CONSOLATION. 

ONE  night  came  on  a  hurricane, 
The  sea  was  mountains  rolling, 
When  Barney  Buntline  turned  his  quid, 

And  said  to  Billy  Bowling, 
"  A  strong  nor'wester's  blowing,  Bill : 
Hark  !  don't  ye  hear  it  roar  now  ? 
Lord  help  'm  !     How  I  pities  all 
Unhappy  folks  on  shore  now  ! 

"  Foolhardy  chaps  who  live  in  town  — 
What  danger  they  are  all  in  ! 

And  now  are  quaking  in  their  beds, 
For  fear  the  roof  should  fall  in. 


1 86  GRANDMOTHER    TENTERDEN. 

Poor  creatures  !  how  they  envies  us, 

And  wishes,  I've  a  notion, 
For  our  good  luck,  in  such  a  storm, 

To  be  upon  the  ocean. 

"  But  as  for  them  who're  out  all  day 

On  business  from  their  houses, 
And  late  at  night  are  coming  home 

To  cheer  their  babes  and  spouses, 
While  you  and  I,  Bill,  on  the  deck 

Are  comfortably  lying  — 
My  eyes  !  what  tiles  and  chimney-pots 

About  their  heads  are  flying  ! 

"  And  very  often  have  we  heard 

How  men  are  killed  and  undone 
By  overturns  of  carriages, 

And  thieves  and  fires,  in  London. 
We  know  what  risks  all  landsmen  run, 

From  noblemen  to  tailors  ; 
Then,  Bill,  let  us  thank  Providence 

That  you  and  I  are  sailors." 

WILLIAM  PITT. 


GRANDMOTHER    TENTERDEN. 

I  MIND  it  was  but  yesterday  : 
The  sun  was  dim,  the  air  was  chill ; 
Below  the  town,  below  the  hill, 
The  sails  of  my  son's  ship  did  fill,  — 
My  Jacob,  who  was  cast  away. 


GRANDMOTHER    TENTERDEN.  187 

He  said,  "  God  keep  you,  mother  dear  !  " 
But  did  not  turn  to  kiss  his  wife : 
They  had  some  foolish,  idle  strife ; 
Her  tongue  was  like  a  two-edged  knife, 

And  he  was  proud  as  any  peer. 

Howbeit  that  night  I  took  no  note 
Of  sea  nor  sky,  for  all  was  drear ; 
I  marked  not  that  the  hills  looked  near, 
Nor  that  the  moon,  though  curved  and  clear, 

Through  curd-like  scud  did  drive  and  float. 

For  with  my  darling  went  the  joy 
Of  autumn  woods  and  meadows  brown. 
I  came  to  hate  the  little  town  : 
It  seemed  as  if  the  sun  went  down 

With  him,  my  only  darling  boy. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  night : 
The  wind  it  shifted  west  by  south  ; 
It  piled  high  up  the  harbor-mouth  ; 
The  marshes,  black  with  summer  drouth, 

Were  all  abroad  with  sea-foam  white. 

It  was  the  middle  of  the  night : 
The  sea  upon  the  garden  leapt ; 
And  my  son's  wife  in  quiet  slept ; 
And  I,  his  mother,  waked  and  wept, 

When,  lo  !  there  came  a  sudden  light. 

And  there  he  stood  !  his  seaman's  dress 
All  wet  and  dripping  seemed  to  be ; 
The  pale  blue  fires  of  the  sea 
Dripped  from  his  garments  constantly  : 

I  could  not  speak  through  cowardness. 


1 88  GRANDMOTHER    TENTERDEN. 

"  I  come  through  night  and  storm,"  he  said, 
"Through  storm  and  night  and  death,"  said  he, 
"  To  kiss  my  wife,  if  it  be  so 
That  strife  still  holds  'tvvixt  her  and  me ; 

For  all  beyond  is  peace,"  he  said. 

"  The  sea  is  His ;  and  He  who  sent 
The  wind  and  wave  can  soothe  their  strife ; 
And  brief  and  foolish  is  our  life." 
He  stooped,  and  kissed  his  sleeping  wife, 

Then  sighed,  and  like  a  dream  he  went. 

Now,  when  my  darling  kissed  not  me, 
But  her,  his  wife,  who  did  not  wake, 
My  heart  within  me  seemed  to  break  : 
I  swore  a  vow,  nor  thenceforth  spake 

Of  what  my  clearer  eyes  did  see. 

And  when  the  slow  weeks  brought  him  not, 
Somehow  we  spake  of  aught  beside ; 
For  she  —  her  hope  upheld  her  pride  : 
And  I  —  in  me  all  hope  had  died, 

And  my  son  passed  as  if  forgot. 

It  was  about  the  next  spring-tide 
She  pined  and  faded  where  she  stood, 
Yet  spake  no  word  of  ill  or  good  : 
She  had  the  hard,  cold  Edwards  blood 

In  all  her  veins  —  and  so  she  died. 

One  time  I  thought,  before  she  passed, 
To  give  her  peace  ;  but  ere  I  spake 
Methought,  "  He  will  be  first  to  break 
The  news  in  heaven  ;  "  and  for  his  sake 

I  held  mine  back  until  the  last. 


"  GOD   KNOWS."  189 

And  here  I  sit,  nor  care  to  roam : 
I  only  wait  to  hear  his  call ; 
I  doubt  not  that  this  day  next  fall 
Shall  see  me  safe  in  port,  where  all 

And  every  ship  at  last  comes  home. 

And  you  have  sailed  the  Spanish  main, 
And  knew  my  Jacob?  .  .  .  Eh  !  mercy  ! 
Ah,  God  of  wisdom  !  hath  the  sea 
Yielded  its  dead  to  humble  me  ? 

My  boy  !  ...  my  Jacob  !  .  .  .  Turn  again  ! 

BRET  HARTE. 


"GOD    KNOWS." 

THE   people   looked  from  the  windows,  out  at   the 
awful  sight 
Of  the  rising  and  falling  billows,  while  the  strong  gale 

raged  that  night ; 
And  they  prayed  unto  God,  "  Have  mercy  on  all  on  the 

pitiless  sea, 

And  give  to  the  drowning  strangers  the  power  to  rise  to 
thee." 

In  the  air  was  a  sound  of  moaning,  when  the  late  day  lit 

the  skies ; 
And  compassionate  wives  of  seamen,  scarce  daring  to  lift 

their  eyes 
Lest  afar  they  should  look  on  faces  solemnly  white  and 

dead, 
Made  cosey  the  little  home-place,  and  ready  the  empty 

bed. 


190  "  GOD  KNOWS  r 

But  of  all  in  the  outbound  vessel  that  was  caught  by  the 

fearful  gale, 
Nor  passenger,  child,  or  seaman  was  rescued  to  tell  the 

tale; 
For,  lo  !   through  the   seething  waters  the  ship  and  its 

hosts  went  down : 
Only  the  God  of  heaven  watches  when  people  drown. 

Next  day,  when  the  fish-wives  waited,  fighting  the  storm 

and  roar, 
The  body  of  some  one's  darling  was  ruthlessly  washed 

ashore ; 
And  the  pitiful  sailors  took  her.     Said  they,  "  She  shall 

find  a  grave 
Away  in  our  little  churchyard,  out  of  reach  of  the  cruel 

wave." 

The  coffin  had  been  made  ready,  when  a  questioning 

word  arose  : 
"What  name  shall  we  put  upon  it?"     Said  a  pitying 

man,  "  God  knows." 
And  the  heart  of  the  reverend  asker  echoed  the  word  he 

said, 
And  that  was  the  sole  memorial  they  had  for  the  early 

dead. 

And  that  is  the  greatest  comfort  we  have  in  this  world  of 

care. 

Black  are  the  skies  above  us,  and  the  storm  is  in  the  air ; 
We  are  often  hurt  and  worsted  by  the  thickening  shower 

of  woes : 
But  we  rest  on  the  heart  of  the  Father,  and  we  calmly 

say,  "  God  knows." 

MARIANNE  FARNINGHAM. 


THE   CASTAWAY.  191 

THE    CASTAWAY. 

OBSCUREST  night  involved  the  sky, 
The  Atlantic  billows  roared, 
When  such  a  destined  wretch  as  I, 
Washed  headlong  from  on  board, 
Of  friends,  of  hope,  of  all  bereft, 
His  floating  home  forever  left. 

No  braver  chief  could  Albion  boast 

Than  he  with  whom  he  went ; 
Nor  ever  ship  left  Albion's  coast 

With  warmer  wishes  sent. 
He  loved  them  both,  but  both  in  vain; 
Nor  him  beheld,  nor  her  again. 

Not  long  beneath  the  whelming  brine, 

Expert  to  swim,  he  lay ; 
Nor  soon  he  felt  his  strength  decline, 

Or  courage  die  away ; 
But  waged  with  death  a  lasting  strife, 
Supported  by  despair  of  life. 

He  shouted  ;  nor  his  friends  had  failed 

To  check  the  vessel's  course  : 
But  so  the  furious  blast  prevailed, 

That  pitiless,  perforce, 
They  left  their  outcast  mate  behind, 
And  scudded  still  before  the  wind. 

Some  succor  yet  they  could  afford ; 

And  such  as  storms  allow  — 
The  cask,  the  coop,  the  floated  cord  — 

Delayed  not  to  bestow : 


192  THE   CASTAWAY. 

But  he,  they  knew,  nor  ship  nor  shore, 
Whate'er  they  gave,  should  visit  more. 

Nor,  cruel  as  it  seemed,  could  he 
Their  haste  himself  condemn, 

Aware  that  flight  in  such  a  sea 
Alone  could  rescue  them  ; 

Yet  bitter  felt  it  still  to  die 

Deserted,  and  his  friends  so  nigh. 

He  long  survives  who  lives  an  hour 

In  ocean,  self-upheld ; 
And  so  long  he,  with  unspent  power, 

His  destiny  repelled, 
And  ever,  as  the  minutes  flew, 
Entreated  help,  or  cried,  "  Adieu  ! " 

At  length,  his  transient  respite  past, 
His  comrades,  who  before 

Had  heard  his  voice  in  every  blast, 
Could  catch  the  sound  no  more ; 

For  then,  by  toil  subdued,  he  drank 

The  stifling  wave  —  and  then  he  sank. 

No  poet  wept  him  ;  but  the  page 

Of  narrative  sincere 
That  tells  his  name,  his  worth,  his  age, 

Is  wet  with  Anson's  tear ; 
And  tears  by  bards  or  heroes  shed 
Alike  immortalize  the  dead. 

I  therefore  purpose  not,  or  dream, 

Descanting  on  his  fate, 
To  give  the  melancholy  theme 

A  more  enduring  date  ; 


SONG   OF  THE  BERSERKS.  193 

But  misery  still  delights  to  trace 
Its  semblance  in  another's  case. 

No  voice  divine  the  storm  allayed, 

No  light  propitious  shone, 
When,  snatched  from  all  effectual  aid, 

We  perished,  each  alone  ; 
But  I  beneath  a  rougher  sea, 
And  whelmed  in  deeper  gulfs,  than  he. 

WILLIAM  COWPER. 


SONG    OF    THE    BERSERKS. 

BROWN  are  our  ships, 
But  the  Vauns  admire 
The  haunts  of  the  brave : 
Horses  of  the  sea, 
They  carry  the  warrior 
To  the  winning  of  plunder. 

The  wandering  home 
Enriches  the  fixed  one  ; 
Welcome  to  woman 
Is  the  crosser  of  ocean ; 
Merry  are  children 
In  strange  attire. 

Narrow  are  our  beds 

As  graves  of  the  nameless ; 

But  mighty  our  rising 

As  the  storms  of  Thor : 

He  fears  not  man 

Who  laughs  at  the  tempest. 


194  THE  MEETING  OF  THE  SHIPS. 

Who  feeds  with  corses 
The  whales  of  ^Eger 
Shall  deck  his  hall 
With  far-fetched  booty, 
And  quaff  at  will 
The  wine  of  the  South. 

FROM  THE  HERVARAR  SAGAR.    TRANSLATED  DY  W.  TAYLOR. 


THE    MEETING    OF    THE    SHIPS. 

WHEN,  o'er  the  silent  seas  alone, 
For  days  and  nights  we've  cheerless  gone, 
Oh,  they  who've  felt  it  know  how  sweet 
Some  sunny  morn  a  sail  to  meet ! 

Sparkling  at  once  is  every  eye, 

"  Ship  ahoy  !  "  our  joyful  cry ; 

While  answering  back  the  sounds  we  hear, 

"Ship  ahoy  !  "   What  cheer?  what  cheer? 

Then  sails  are  backed ;  we  nearer  come  : 
Kind  words  are  said  of  friends  and  home ; 
And  soon,  too  soon,  we  part  with  pain, 
To  sail  o'er  silent  seas  again. 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


A    HYMN    OF    THE    SEA. 

r  I  AHE  sea  is  mighty ;  but  a  mightier  sways 
JL     His  restless  billows.     Thou  whose  hands  have 

scooped 
His  boundless  gulfs,  and  built  his  shore,  thy  breath, 


OUT  TO  SEA.  195 

That  moved  in  the  beginning  o'er  his  face, 
Moves  o'er  it  evermore.     The  obedient  waves 
To  its  strong  motion  roll  and  rise  and  fall. 
Still  from  that  realm  of  rain  thy  cloud  goes  up, 
As  at  the  first,  to  water  the  great  earth, 
And  keep  her  valleys  green.     A  hundred  realms 
Watch  its  broad  shadow  warping  on  the  wind, 
And  in  the  dropping  shower  with  gladness  hear 
Thy  promise  of  the  harvest.     I  look  forth 
Over  the  boundless  blue,  where  joyously 
The  bright  crests  of  innumerable  waves 
Glance  to  the  sun  at  once,  as  when  the  hands 
Of  a  great  multitude  are  upward  flung 
In  acclamation.     I  behold  the  ships 
Gliding  from  cape  to  cape,  from  isle  to  isle, 
Or  stemming  toward  far  lands,  or  hastening  home 
From  the  Old  World.     It  is  thy  friendly  breeze 
That  bears  them,  with  the  riches  of  the  land, 
And  treasure  of  dear  lives,  till  in  the  port 
The  shouting  seaman  climbs,  and  furls  the  sail. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


OUT    TO    SEA. 

wind  is  blowing  east, 
And  the  waves  are  running  free 
Let's  hoist  the  sail  at  once, 
And  stand  out  to  sea, 

(You  and  me.) 

I  am  growing  more  and  more 
Aweary  of  the  shore  : 
It  was  never  so  before  — 
Out  to  sea ! 


196  CHILD'S  SONG  IN   WINTER. 

The  wind  is  blowing  east ; 

How  it  swells  the  straining  sail ! 
A  little  farther  out 

We  shall  have  a  jolly  gale. 

(Cling  to  me.) 

The  waves  are  running  high ; 
And  the  gulls,  how  they  fly  ! 
We  shall  only  see  the  sky 
Out  to  sea. 

The  wind  is  blowing  east 

From  the  dark  and  bloody  shore, 
Where  flash  a  million  swords, 
And  the  dreadful  cannon  roar. 

(Woe  is  me  !) 

There's  a  curse  upon  the  land, 
(Is  that  blood  upon  my  hand?) 
What  can  we  do  but  stand 
Out  to  sea? 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 


CHILD'S    SONG    IN    WINTER. 

OUTSIDE  the  garden 
The  wet  skies  harden  ; 
The  gates  are  barred  on 

The  summer  side ; 
Shut  out  the  flower- time, 
Sunbeam,  and  shower-time ; 
Make  way  for  our  time, 
The  winter-tide. 


CHILD  'S  SONG  IN  WINTER.  197 

Green  once  and  cheery, 
The  woods,  worn  and  weary, 
Sigh  as  the  dreary, 

Weak  sun  goes  home. 
A  great  wind  grapples 
The  wave,  and  dapples 

The  dead  green  floor  of  the  sea  with  foam. 
Through  fell  and  moorland, 
And  salt  sea  foreland, 
Our  noisy  norland 

Resounds  and  sings ; 
Waste  waves  thereunder 
Are  blown  in  sunder, 
And  winds  make  thunder 

With  cloud-wide  wings. 
Sea-drift  makes  dimmer 
The  beacon's  glimmer ; 
Nor  sail  nor  swimmer 
Can  try  the  tides ; 
And  snow-drifts  thicken, 

Under  the  heather  the  sundew  hides. 

In  fierce  March  weather 
White  waves  break  tether, 
And,  whirled  together 

At  either  hand, 
Like  weeds  uplifted, 
The  tree-trunks  rifted, 
In  spars  are  drifted, 

Like  foam  or  sand, 
Past  swamp  and  sallow, 
And  reed-beds  callow, 
Through  pool  and  shallow, 


198  CHILD'S  SONG  IN   WINTER. 

To  wind  and  lea, 
Till,  no  more  tongue-tied, 
Full  flood  and  young  tide 

Roar  down  the  rapids,  and  storm  the  sea. 

As  men's  cheeks  faded 
On  shores  invaded, 
When  shorewards  waded 

The  lords  of  fight  ; 
When  churl  and  craven 
Saw  hard  on  haven 
The  wide-winged  raven 
At  mainmast  height ; 
WThen  monks  affrighted 
To  windward  sighted 
The  birds  full-flighted 

Of  swift  sea-kings : 
So  earth  turns  paler, 
When  Storno  the  sailor 

Steers  in  with  a  roar  in  the  race  of  his  wings. 

O  strong  sea  sailor  ! 
Whose  cheek  turns  paler 
For  wind  or  hail,  or 

For  fear  of  thee  ? 
O  far  sea-farer  ! 
O  thunder-bearer  ! 
Thy  songs  are  rarer 

Than  soft  songs  be. 
O  fleet-foot  stranger ! 
O  North-sea  ranger ! 
Through  days  of  danger 


CHILD  ^S  SONG  IN  WINTER.  199 

And  ways  of  fear, 
Blow  thy  horn  here  for  us, 
Blow  the  sky  clear  for  us ; 

Send  us  the  song  of  the  sea  to  hear. 

Roll  the  strong  stream  of  it 
Up,  till  the  scream  of  it 
Wake  from  a  dream  of  it 

Children  that  sleep ; 
Seamen  that  fare  for  them 
Forth,  with  a  prayer  for  them, 
Shall  not  God  care  for  them  ? 

Angels  not  keep  ? 
Spare  not  the  surges 
Thy  stormy  scourges ; 
Spare  us  the  dirges 

Of  wives  that  weep. 
Turn  back  the  waves  for  us, 
Dig  no  fresh  graves  for  us, 

Wind,  in  the  manifold  gulls  of  the  deep. 

O  stout  north-easter, 
Sea-king,  land-waster  ! 
For  all  thine  haste,  or 

Thy  stormy  skill, 
Yet  hadst  thou  never, 
For  all  endeavor, 
Strength  to  dissever, 

Or  strength  to  spill, 
Save  of  His  giving 
Who  gave  our  living, 
Whose  hands  are  weaving 


200  THE  SEASIDE. 

What  ours  fulfil, 
Whose  feet  tread  under 
The  storms  and  thunder ; 

Who  made  our  wonder  to  work  His  will. 

His  years  and  hours, 
His  world's  blind  powers, 
His  stars  and  flowers, 

His  nights  and  days, 
Sea-tide  and  river, 
And  waves  that  shiver, 
•  Praise  God,  the  Giver 

Of  tongues  to  praise. 
Winds  in  their  blowing, 
And  fruits  in  growing, 
Time  in  its  going, 

While  time  shall  be, 
In  death  and  living, 
With  one  thanksgiving, 

Praise  Him  whose  hand  is  the  strength  of  the  sea. 

ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


THE    SEASIDE. 

IN  summer-time  it  was  a  paradise 
Of  mountain,  frith,  and  bay,  and  shining  sand : 
Our  outward  rowers  sang  towards  the  land, 
Followed  by  waving  hands,  and  happy  cries ; 
By  the  full  flood  the  groups  no  longer  roam ; 
And  when,  at  ebb,  the  glistening  beach  grows  wide, 
No  barefoot  children  race  into  the  foam, 
But  passive  jellies  wait  the  turn  of  tide. 


THE  LAST  BUCCANEER.  2OI 

Like  some  forsaken  lover,  lingering  there, 
The  boatman  stands ;  the  maidens  trip  no  more 
With  loosened  locks ;  far  from  the  billows'  roar 
The  Mauds  and  Maries  knot  their  tresses  fair, 
Where  not  a  foam-flake  from  the  enamoured  shore 
Comes  down  the  sea-wind  on  the  golden  hair. 

CHARLES  (TENNYSON)  TURNER. 
THE    LAST    BUCCANEER. 

THE  winds  were  yelling,  the  waves  were  swelling, 
The  sky  was  black  and  drear, 
When  the  crew,  with  eyes  of  flame,  brought  the  ship 

without  a  name 
Alongside  the  last  buccaneer. 

"  Whence  flies  your  sloop  full  sail  before  so  fierce  a  gale, 

When  all  others  drive  bare  on  the  seas? 
Say,  come  ye  from  the  shore  of  the  holy  Salvador, 

Or  the  gulf  of  the  rich  Caribbees?" 

"  From  a  shore  no  search  hath  found,  from  a  gulf  no  line 
can  sound, 

Without  rudder  or  needle  we  steer ; 
Above,  below,  our  bark,  dies  the  sea-fowl  and  the  shark, 

As  we  fly  by  the  last  buccaneer. 

"To-night  there  shall  be  heard,  on  the  rocks  of  Cape  de 

Verde, 

A  loud  crash  and  a  louder  roar ; 
And  to-morrow  shall  the  deep,  with  a  heavy  moaning, 

sweep 
The  corpses  and  wreck  to  the  shore." 


202  IN  SWAN  AGE  BAY. 

The  stately  ship  of  Clyde  securely  now  may  ride 

In  the  breath  of  the  citron-shades ; 
And  Severn's  towering  mast  securely  now  flies  fast 

Through  the  sea  of  the  balmy  trades. 

From  St.  Jago's  wealthy  port,  from  Havana's  royal  fort, 

The  seaman  goes  forth  without  fear ; 
For,  since  that  stormy  night,  not  a  mortal  hath  had  sight 

Of  the  flag  of  the  last  buccaneer. 

THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAULAY. 


IN    SWANAGE    BAY. 


five  and  forty  year  ago, 
X    Just  such  another  morn  ; 
The  fishermen  were  on  the  beach, 

The  reapers  in  the  corn  : 
My  tale  is  true,  young  gentlemen, 
As  sure  as  you  were  bora. 

"  My  tale's  all  true,  young  gentlemen," 
The  fond  old  boatman  cried 

Unto  the  sullen,  angry  lads, 
Who  vain  obedience  tried  : 

"  Mind  what  your  father  says  to  you, 
And  don't  go  out  this  tide. 

"  Just  such  a  shiny  sea  as  this, 
Smooth  as  a  pond,  you'd  say, 

And  white  gulls  flying,  and  the  crafts 
Down  Channel  making  way, 

And  Isle  of  Wight,  all  glittering  bright, 
Seen  clear  from  Swanage  Bay, 


IN  SWAN  AGE  BAY.  203 

"  The  Battery  Point,  the  Race  beyond,  — 

Just  as  to-day  you  see  : 
This  was,  I  think,  the  very  stone 

Where  sat  Dick,  Dolly,  and  me : 
She  was  our  little  sister,  sirs,  — 

A  small  child,  just  turned  three. 

"  And  Dick  was  mighty  fond  of  her : 

Though  a  big  lad  and  bold, 
He'd  carry  her  like  any  nurse, 

Almost  from  birth,  I'm  told ; 
For  mother  sickened  soon,  and  died 

When  Doll  was  eight  months  old. 

"  We  sat  and  watched  a  little  boat, 

Her  name  the  '  Tricksy  Jane,'  — 
A  queer  old  tub  laid  up  ashore ; 

But  we  could  see  her  plain. 
To  see  her,  and  not  haul  her  up, 

Cost  us  a  deal  of  pain. 

"  Said  Dick  to  me,  '  Let's  have  a  pull : 

Father  will  never  know ; 
He's  busy  in  his  wheat  up  there, 

And  cannot  see  us  go. 
These  landsmen  are  such  cowards  if 

A  puff  of  wind  does  blow  ! 

" '  I've  been  to  France  and  back  three  times  : 

Who  knows  best,  dad  or  me, 
Whether  a  ship's  seaworthy  or  not  ?  — 

Dolly,  wilt  go  to  sea?  ' 
And  Dolly  laughed,  and  hugged  him  tight, 

As  pleased  as  she  could  be. 


204  IN  SWAN  AGE  BAY. 

"  I  don't  mean,  sirs,  to  blame  poor  Dick : 

What  he  did,  sure  I'd  do ; 
And  many  a  sail  in  '  Tricksy  Jane  ' 

We'd  had  when  she  was  new. 
Father  was  always  sharp  ;  and  what  % 

He  said  he  meant  it  too. 

"  But  now  the  sky  had  not  a  cloud, 
The  bay  looked  smooth  as  glass  : 

Our  Dick  could  manage  any  boat 
As  neat  as  ever  was. 

And  Dolly  crowed,  '  Me  go  to  sea  ! ' 
The  jolly  little  lass  ! 

"  Well,  sirs,  we  went  —  a  pair  of  oars, 

My  jacket  for  a  sail  — 
Just  round  '  Old  Harry  and  his  Wife,' 

Those  rocks  there,  within  hail ; 
And  we  came  back  —  d'ye  want  to  hear 

The  end  o'  the  old  man's  tale  ? 

"  Ay,  ay,  we  came  back  past  that  point ; 

But  then  a  breeze  up-sprung  : 
Dick  shouted,  '  Hoy  !  down  sail ! '  and  pulled 

With  all  his  might  among 
The  white  sea-horses  that  upreared 

So  terrible  and  strong. 

"  I  pulled  too  :  I  was  blind  with  fear ; 

But  I  could  hear  Dick's  breath 
Coming  and  going,  as  he  told 

Dolly  to  creep  beneath 
His  jacket,  and  not  hold  him  so  : 

We  rowed  for  life  or  death. 


IN  SWAN  AGE  BAY.  205 

"  We  almost  reached  the  sheltered  bay ; 

We  could  see  father  stand 
Upon  the  little  jetty  here, 

His  sickle  in  his  hand  ; 
The  houses  white,  the  yellow  fields, 

The  safe  and  pleasant  land. 

"  And  Dick,  though  pale  as  any  ghost, 

Had  only  said  to  me, 
'  We're  all  right  now,  old  lad  ! '  when  up 

A  wave  rolled  —  drenched  us  three  ; 
One  lurch,  and  then  I  felt  the  chill 

And  roar  of  blinding  sea. 

"  I  don't  remember  much  but  that : 

You  see  I'm  safe  and  sound. 
I  have  been  wrecked  four  times  since  then, 

Seen  queer  sights,  I'll  be  bound. 
I  think  folks  sleep  beneath  the  deep 

As  calm  as  under  ground." 

"  But  Dick  and  Dolly? "  —  "  Well,  poor  Dick  ! 

I  saw  him  rise,  and  cling 
Unto  the  gunwale  of  the  boat, 

Floating  keel  up,  and  sing 
Out  loud,  '  Where's  Doll  ?  '     I  hear  him  yet 

As  clear  as  any  thing. 

"  '  Where's  Dolly? '     I  no  answer  made  ; 

For  she  dropped  like  a  stone 
Down  through  the  deep  sea,  and  it  closed : 

The  little  thing  was  gone. 
1  Where's  Doll  ? '  three  times ;  then  Dick  loosed  hold, 

And  left  me  there  alone. 


206       THE  SONG  OF  THE  WRECK. 


"  It's  five  and  forty  year  since  then," 
Muttered  the  boatman  gray, 

And  drew  his  rough  hand  o'er  his  eyes, 
And  stared  across  the  bay,  — 

"Just  five  and  forty  year,"  and  not 
Another  word  did  say. 

"But  Dolly?"  ask  the  children  all 

As  they  about  him  stand. 
"  Poor  Doll !  she  floated  back  next  tide 

With  seaweed  in  her  hand. 
She's  buried  o'er  that  hill  you  see, 

In  a  churchyard  on  land. 


"  But  where  Dick  lies,  God  knows.     He'll  find 

Our  Dick  at  judgment-day." 
The  boatman  fell  to  mending  nets, 

The  boys  ran  off  to  play  ; 
And  the  sun  shone,  and  the  waves  danced, 

In  quiet  Swanage  Bay. 

DINAH  MARIA  MULOCK. 


THE    SONG    OF    THE    WRECK. 

THE  wind  blew  high,  the  waters  raved  ; 
A  ship  drove  on  the  land  : 
A  hundred  human  creatures  saved 

Kneeled  down  upon  the  sand. 
Threescore  were  drowned  ;  threescore  were  thrown 

Upon  the  black  rocks  wild  ; 
And  thus,  among  them,  left  alone, 
They  found  one  helpless  child. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  WRECK.       207 

A  seaman  rough,  to  shipwreck  bred, 

Stood  out  from  all  the  rest, 
And  gently  laid  the  lonely  head 

Upon  his  honest  breast ; 
And,  travelling  o'er  the  desert  wide, 

It  was  a  solemn  joy 
To  see  them  ever  side  by  side, 

The  sailor  and  the  boy. 


In  famine,  sickness,  hunger,  thirst, 

The  two  were  still  but  one, 
Until  the  strong  man  dropped  the  first, 

And  felt  his  labors  done. 
Then  to  a  trusty  friend  he  spake,  — 

"  Across  the  desert  wide 
Oh,  take  this  poor  boy  for  my  sake  ! " 

And  kissed  the  child,  and  died. 

Toiling  along  in  weary  plight, 

Through  heavy  jungle,  mire, 
These  two  came  later  every  night 

To  warm  them  at  the  fire. 
Until  the  captain  said  one  day, 

"  O  seaman  good  and  kind  ! 
To  save  thyself  now  come  away, 

And  leave  the  boy  behind." 

The  child  was  slumbering  near  the  blaze 

"  O  captain  !  let  him  rest 
Until  it  sinks,  when  God's  own  ways 

Shall  teach  us  what  is  best." 


208  THE   "REVENGE." 

They  watched  the  whitened,  ashy  heap, 
Then  touched  the  child  in  vain  : 

They  did  not  leave  him  there  asleep,  — 
He  never  woke  again. 

CHARLES  DICKENS. 


THE    "REVENGE." 
(A   BALLAD   OF  THE   FLEET,    1591.) 


AT  Flores  in  the  Azores  Sir  Richard  Grenville  lay ; 
And  a  pinnace,  like  a  fluttered  bird,  came  flying 
from  far  away : 

"  Spanish  ships-of-war  at  sea  we  have  sighted  fifty-three  !  " 

Then  sware  Lord  Thomas  Howard,  "  Fore  God  I  am  no 
coward  ! 

But  I  cannot  meet  them  here ;  for  my  ships  are  out  of 
gear, 

And  the  half  my  men  are  sick.     I  must  fly,  but  follow 
quick. 

We  are  six  ships  of  the  line  :  can  we  fight  with  fifty- 
three?" 


n. 

Then  spake  Sir  Richard  Grenville,  "  I  know  you  are  no 

coward  : 

You  fly  them  for  a  moment  to  fight  with  them  again. 
But  I've  ninety  men  and  more  that  are  lying  sick  ashore. 
I  should  count  myself  the  coward  if  I  left  them,  my  Lord 

Howard, 
To  these  Inquisition  dogs  and  the  devildoms  of  Spain." 


THE   "REVENGE."  209 

III. 

So  Lord  Howard  past  away  with  five  ships-of-war  that  day, 
Till  he  melted  like  a  cloud  in  the  silent  summer  heaven  ; 
But  Sir  Richard  bore  in  hand  all  his  sick  men  from  the 

land 

Very  carefully  and  slow, 
Men  of  Bideford  in  Devon  : 
And  we  laid  them  on  the  ballast  down  below ; 
For  we  brought  them  all  aboard ; 
And  they  blest  him,  in  their*  pain,  that  they  were  not  left 

to  Spain, 
To  the  thumbscrew  and  the  stake,  for  the  glory  of  the 

Lord. 

IV. 

He  had  only  a  hundred  seaman  to  work  the  ship  and  to 

fight ; 
And  he  sailed  away  from  Flores  till  the  Spaniard  came  in 

sight, 

With  his  huge  sea- castles  heaving  upon  the  weather-bow. 
"Shall  we  fight,  or  shall  we  fly? 
Good  Sir  Richard,  tell  us  now ; 
For  to  fight  is  but  to  die. 

There'll  be  little  of  us  left  by  the  time  this  sun  be  set." 
And  Sir  Richard  said  again,  "  We  be  all  good  English 

men. 
Let  us  bang  these  dogs  of  Seville,  the  children  of  the 

devil, 
For  I  never  turned  my  back  upon  Don  or  devil  yet." 

v. 

Sir  Richard  spoke,  and  he  laughed,  and  we  roared  a 
hurrah ;  and  so 


210  THE   "REVENGE." 

The  little  "  Revenge  "  ran  on  sheer  into  the  heart  of  the 
foe, 

With  her  hundred  fighters  on  deck,  and  her  ninety  sick 
below ; 

For  half  of  their  fleet  to  the  right,  and  half  to  the  left, 
were  seen ; 

And  the  little  "  Revenge  "  ran  on  through  the  long  sea- 
lane  between. 

v?. 

Thousands  of  their  soldiers  looked  down  from  their  decks, 
and  laughed ; 

Thousands  of  their  seaman  made  mock  at  the  mad  little 
craft 

Running  on  and  on,  till  delayed 

By  their  mountain-like  "  San  Philip,"  that,  of  fifteen  hun- 
dred tons, 

And  up- shadowing  high  above  us  with  her  yawning  tiers 
of  guns, 

Took  the  breath  from  our  sails,  and  we  stayed. 


VII. 

And  while  now  the  great  "  San  Philip  "  hung  above  us, 

like  a  cloud 

Whence  the  thunderbolt  will  fall 
Long  and  loud, 
Four  galleons  drew  away 
From  the  Spanish  fleet  that  day ; 
And  two  upon  the  larboard,  and  two  upon  the  starboard, 

lay; 
And  the  battle- thunder  broke  from  them  all. 


THE   "REVENGE."  211 

VIII. 

But  anon  the  great  "San  Philip,"  she  bethought  herself, 

and  went, 

Having  that  within  her  womb  that  had  left  her  ill  content ; 
And  the  rest,  they  came  aboard  us,  and  they  fought  us 

hand  to  hand  : 
For   a   dozen   times   they   came   with    their   pikes    and 

musketeers ; 
And  a  dozen  times  we  shook  'em  off,  as  a  dog  that  shakes 

his  ears 
When  he  leaps  from  the  water  to  the  land. 

IX. 

And  the  sun  went  down,  and  the  stars  came  out  far  over 
the  summer  sea ; 

But  never  a  moment  ceased  the  fight  of  the  one  and  the 
fifty-three. 

Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  their  high-built  gal- 
leons came, 

Ship  after  ship,  the  whole   night  long,  with  her  battle- 
thunder  and  flame  : 

Ship  after  ship,  the  whole  night  long,  drew  back  with  her 
dead  and  her  shame. 

For  some  were  sunk,  and  many  were  shattered,  and  so 
could  fight  us  no  more  — 

God  of  battles,  was  ever  a  battle  like  this  in  the  world 
before  ? 

x. 

For  he  said,  "  Fight  on  !  fight  on  !  " 
Though  his  vessel  was  all  but  a  wreck ; 
And  it  chanced    that,  when  half  of  the  short  summer 
night  was  gone, 


212  THE   "REVENGE." 

With   a   grisly  wound   to   be   dressed   he   had   left   the 

deck; 
But  a  bullet  struck  him  that  was  dressing  it  suddenly 

dead, 
And  himself  he  was  wounded  again  in  the  side  and  the 

head ; 
And  he  said,  "  Fight  on  !  fight  on  !  " 

XI. 

And  the  night  went  down,  and  the  sun  smiled  out  far  over 

the  summer  sea, 
And  the  Spanish  fleet,  with  broken  sides,  lay  round  us  all 

iii  a  ring ; 
But  they  dared  not  touch  us  again,  for  they  feared  that 

we  still  could  sting  : 

So  they  watched  what  the  end  would  be. 
And  we  had  not  fought  them  in  vain. 
But  in  perilous  plight  were  we, 
Seeing  forty  of  our  poor  hundred  were  slain, 
And  half  of  the  rest  of  us  maimed  for  life 
In  the  crash  of  the  cannonades  and  the  desperate  strife ; 
And  the  sick  men  down  in  the  hold  were  most  of  them 

stark  and  cold ; 
And  the  pikes  were  all  broken  or  bent ;  and  the  powder 

was  all  of  it  spent ; 

And  the  masts  and  the  rigging  were  lying  over  the  side  : 
But  Sir  Richard  cried,  in  his  English  pride, 
"  We  have  fought  such  a  fight  for  a  day  and  a  night 
As  may  never  be  fought  again  ! 
We  have  won  great  glory,  my  men. 
And  a  day  less  or  more, 
At  sea  or  ashore, 
We  die  —  does  it  matter  when  ? 


THE   "REVENGE."  213 

Sink  me  the  ship,  master  gunner,  sink  her  !  split  her  in 

twain  ! 
Fall  into  the  hands  of  God  —  not    into    the  hands  of 

Spain  ! " 

XII. 

And  the  gunner  said,  "  Ay,  ay  !  "    But  the  seamen  made 

reply, 

"  We  have  children,  we  have  wives ; 
And  the  Lord  hath  spared  our  lives. 
We  will  make  the  Spaniard  promise,  if  we  yield,  to  let  us 

go; 

We  shall  live  to  fight  again,  and  to  strike  another  blow : 
And  the  lion  there  lay  dying,  and  they  yielded  to  the  foe. 

xm. 

And  the  stately  Spanish  men  to  their  flag-ship  bore  him 

then, 
Where  they  laid  him  by  the  mast,  old  Sir  Richard,  caught 

at  last  : 
And  they  praised  him  to  his  face  with  a  courtly  foreign 

grace ; 

But  he  rose  up  on  their  decks,  and  he  cried, 
"  I  have  fought  for  queen  and  faith  like  a  valiant  man  and 

true ; 

I  have  only  done  my  duty  as  a  man  is  bound  to  do  : 
With  a  joyful  spirit,  I,  Sir  Richard  Grenville,  die  ! " 
And  he  fell  upon  their  decks,  and  he  died. 

XIV. 

And  they  stared  at  the  dead  that  had  been  so  valiant  and 

true, 
And  had  holden  the  power  and  glory  of  Spain  so  cheap, 


214  ON    THE    SEA- 

That  he  dared  her  with  one  little  ship  and  his  English  few. 
Was  he  devil,  or  man?     He  was  devil,  for  aught  they 

knew. 

But  they  sank  his  body  with  honor  down  into  the  deep, 
And  they  manned  the  "Revenge  "  with  a  swarthier  alien 

crew ; 
And  away  she  sailed  with  her  loss,  and  longed  for  her 

own, 
When  a  wind  from  the  lands  they  had  ruined  awoke  from 

sleep, 

And  the  water  began  to  heave  and  the  weather  to  moan ; 
And  or  ever  that  evening  ended,  a  great  gale  blew, 
And  a  wave,  like  the  wave  that  is  raised  by  an  earthquake, 

grew, 
Till  it  smote  on  their  hulls  and  their  sails  and  their  masts 

and  their  flags ; 
And  the  whole  sea  plunged,  and  fell  on  the  shot-shattered 

navy  of  Spain ; 
And  the   little  "  Revenge "  herself  went   down   by  the 

island  crags 
To  be  lost  evermore  in  the  main. 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 


ON    THE    SEA. 

IT  keeps  eternal  whisperings  around 
Desolate  shores,  and  with  its  mighty  swell 
Gluts  twice  ten  thousand  caverns  till  the  spell 
Of  Hecate  leaves  them  their  old  shadowy  sound. 
Often  'tis  in  such  gentle  temper  found, 
That  scarcely  will  the  very  smallest  shell 
Be  moved  for  days  from  where  it  sometime  fell 
When  last  the  winds  of  heaven  were  unbound. 


SONNET.  215 

Oh,  ye  who  have  your  eyeballs  vexed  and  tired, 
Feast  them  upon  the  wideness  of  the  sea  ! 
Oh,  ye  whose  ears  are  dinned  with  uproar  rude, 
Or  fed  too  much  with  cloying  melody, 
Sit  ye  near  some  old  cavern's  mouth,  and  brood 
Until  ye  start,  as  if  the  sea-nymphs  quired  ! 

JOHN  KEATS. 


AT    DOVER    CLIFFS. 

ON  these  white  cliffs  that  calm  above  the  flood 
Uplift  their  shadowing  heads,  and  at  their  feet 
Scarce  hear  the  surge  that  has  for  ages  beat, 
Sure  many  a  lonely  wanderer  has  stood, 
And  whilst  the  lifted  murmur  met  his  ear, 
And  o'er  the  distant  billows  the  still  eve 
Sailed  slow,  has  thought  of  all  his  heart  must  leave 
To-morrow, — of  the  friends  he  loved  most  dear, 
Of  social  scenes  from  which  he  wept  to  part : 
But  if,  like  me,  he  knew  how  fruitless  all 
The  thoughts  that  would  full  fain  the  past  recall, 
Soon  would  he  quell  the  risings  of  his  heart, 
And  brave  the  wild  winds  and  unhearing  tide, 
The  world  his  country,  and  his  God  his  guide. 

WILLIAM  LISLE  BOWLES. 


SONNET. 

WATERS,  which,  pendent  from  your  airy  height, 
Dash  on  the  heedless  rocks  and  stones  below, 
Whilst  in  your  white,  uplifted  foam  ye  show, 
Though   vexed   yourselves,   your   beauties    much    more 
bright, 


216  THE  SEA-CAPTAIN'S  FAREWELL. 

Why,  as  ye  know  that  changeless  is  their  doom, 

Do  ye,  if  weary,  strive  against  them  still  ? 

Year  after  year,  as  ye  your  course  fulfil, 

Ye  find  them  rugged,  nor  less  hard  become. 

Return  ye  back  unto  the  leafy  grove 

Through  which  your  way  ye  may  at  pleasure  roam, 

Until  ye  reach  at  last  your  longed-for  home. 

How  hid  in  mystery  are  the  ways  of  love  ! 

Ye,  if  ye  wished,  yet  could  not  wander  free  : 

Freedom  in  my  lone  state  is  valueless  to  me. 

FRANCISCO  RODRIGUEZ  LOBO. 

TRANSLATION  OF  JOHN  ADAMSON. 


THE    SEA-CAPTAIN'S    FAREWELL    TO    HIS    CHILD. 

^T^HE  fresh  breeze  whistles  above  us,  the  tide  runs  fast 
J.  below ; 

The  ship  is  waiting,  they  tell  me,  —  is  waiting,  and  I 
must  go ; 

For  my  bread  must  be  won  on  the  waters,  on  the  change- 
ful, treacherous  main : 

I'll  be  back  in  a  year,  my  baby,  when  the  roses  bloom 
again. 

A  year !     Full  many  a  sailor,  ere  the  year  is  past,  shall 

sleep, 
With  a  bowlder  of  rock  for  a  pillow,  in  the  tangleweed, 

fathoms  deep. 
Back  in  a  year,  my  lambkin  — the  words   are   quickly 

said  ; 
But  the  storm  will  be  up  and  doing,  and  the  sea  will  have 

its  dead. 


REMEMBRANCE.  2 1  7 

What  then?    Who  die  in  their  duty  die  well,  and  are  in 

His  hand. 
"  We're  as  near  to  heaven,"  said  old  Gilbert,  "  by  sea  as 

we  are  by  land  :  " 
E'en  then  we  shall  have  a  meeting,  and  no  more  parting 

and  pain, 
When  both  are  at  rest  on  OUR  FATHER'S  breast,  and  the 

roses  bloom  again. 

H.   W.   DULCKEN. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

r  I  AHE  dash  of  waves  upon  the  shore, 
A     And  hills  that  rise  so  calm  and  blue, 
How  all  my  wish  goes  back  to  you, 
Until  I  dream  that  I  once  more 
Feel  the  strong  wind  sweep  in  from  sea, 
And  hear  the  waves  that  break  below 
My  rocky  nest,  that  now  I  know 
Is  waiting  desolate  for  me  ! 
I  watch  the  white  sails  dim  and  far 
Until  the  night  comes  creeping  in ; 
And  then,  on  the  horizon's  rim, 
I  see  the  lighthouse's  lonely  star. 
Then  rise,  and  going  'cross  the  field 
That  lies  between  my  home  and  me, 
And  turning  now  and  then  to  see 
How  graciously  the  evening  falls 
Upon  the  lonely  rocks  and  shore  ; 
And  then  the  voice  I  hear  no  more 
From  out  the  silence  clearly  calls. 

ALICE  TURNER. 


2l8  THE   OCEA.V. 


THE    OCEAN. 

E  Ocean,  at  the  bidding  of  the  Moon, 
A     Forever  changes  with  his  restless  tide  ; 
Flung  shoreward  now,  to  be  regathered  soon 
With  kingly  pauses  of  reluctant  pride, 
And  semblance  of  return.     Anon  from  home 
He  issues  forth  again,  high-ridged  and  free, 
The  seething  hiss  of  his  tumultuous  foam 
Like  armies  whispering  where  great  echoes  be. 
Oh  !  leave  me  here  upon  this  beach  to  rove, 
Mute  listener  to  that  sound  so  grand  and  lone,  — 
A  glorious  sound,  deep-drawn  and  strongly  thrown, 
And  reaching  those  on  mountain  heights  above  ; 
To  British  ears,  as  who  shall  scorn  to  own, 
A  tutelar  fond  voice,  a  saviour-tone  of  love. 

CHARLES  (TENNYSON)  TURNER. 

PRELUDE    TO    "THE    AMBER    "WHALE." 

THOUGH  it  lash  the  shallows  that  line  the  beach, 
Afar  from  the  great  sea-deeps, 
There  is  never  a  storm  whose  might  can  reach 

Where  the  vast  leviathan  sleeps. 
Like  a  mighty  thought  in  a  quiet  mind, 

In  the  clear,  cold  depths  he  swims ; 
Whilst  above  him  the  pettiest  form  of  his  kind 
With  a  dash  o'er  the  surface  skims. 

There  is  peace  in  power :  the  men  who  speak 

With  the  loudest  tongues  do  least ; 
And  the  surest  sign  of  a  mind  that  is  weak 

Is  its  want  of  the  power  to  rest. 


DROWNED.  219 

It  is  only  the  lighter  water  that  flies 

From  the  sea  on  a  windy  day ; 
And  the  deep  blue  ocean  never  replies 

To  the  sibilant  voice  of  the  spray. 

JOHN  BOYLE  O'REILLY. 

DROWNED. 

SHIPS  are  tossing  at  sea, 
And  ships  sail  in  to  the  windy  cliffs  of  the  shore ; 
But  the  ship  that  is  dearest  to  me 
Will  nevqr  come  in  with  the  tide, 
Will  ripple  the  bay  no  more, 
Riding  in  with  the  tide. 

Under  the  froth  and  the  foam, 

And  the  yeasty  surge,  and  the  shuddering  gusts  of  rain, 

Lies  the  lad  who  will  never  come  home, 

His  white  face  hid  in  the  sand : 

He  neither  has  care  nor  pain 

Under  the  seaweed  and  sand. 

Down  by  the  reefs  and  the  shells, 

Far  down  by  the  channels  that  furrow  the  dolorous  deep, 

Where  the  torn  sails  rise  with  the  swells, 

And  swing  in  the  pulse  of  the  sea, 

He  is  only  sleeping,  asleep 

Down  in  the  sorrowful  sea. 

Above  him  the  wrack  and  the  drift, 

The  red-lit  east,  and  the  dark,  sad  glow  in  the  west, 

The  currents  that  change  and  shift, 

And  the  rain-blown  face  of  the  storm  : 

There  is  nothing  but  silence  and  rest 

Under  the  beat  of  the  storm. 


220  THE  SEA-SERPENT. 

Tangled  in  rigging  and  ropes, 

And  fenced  by  the  wreck  of  spar  and  the  ruin  of  mast, 

The  purple  sea-plant  gropes 

And  wanders  over  my  dead  : 

He  shall  waken  and  rise  at  last, 

When  the  sea  gives  up  its  dead. 

So  in  the  dark  and  the  dawn, 

In  the  gloom  of  keels,  and  the  shadow  of  home-bound 

ships, 

My  mariner  slumbers  on, 
While  I  am  awake  and  forlorn, 
With  a  weary  song  on  my  lips, 
Out  of  my  heart  forlorn. 


THOMAS  GARVIE. 


THE    SEA-SERPENT. 


UPON  the  level  of  the  midnight  sea 
Rested  the  blue  dome  of  immensity, 
Spangled  with  starry  clusters  innumerate, 
Save  to  the  east,  where  lay  a  line  of  clouds 
Foam  pale,  but  indistinct  as  unguessed  fate  : 
As  stately  the  full-sailed  ship  cleft  through 
The  waste  of  heaving  blue, 
Beneath  the  swinging  oil-lamp's  yellow  glow, 
Over  his  charts,  the  captain  bent  below, 
Calmly  secure  whence'er  a  wind  should  blow : 
The  sailors  sang  at  the  helm  and  in  the  shrouds. 

Three  bells  had  gone  ;  a  dark  cloud  dimmed  the  moon, 

That  underneath  the  wave  would  vanish  soon, 

And  in  the  solemn  darkness  before  dawn, 

All  save  the  helmsman  slept ;  when,  in  the  wake, 

A  strange  and  rushing  sound  turned  his  cheek  wan, 


THE  SEA-SERPENT.  221 

And,  looking  o'er  his  shoulder,  he  beheld 

A  something  black,  that  swelled, 

And  lengthened  far  away  ;  while  all  around, 

The  monstrous  head  advancing,  bound  on  bound, 

A  storm  of  surge  and  watery  thunder's  sound. 

Bursting  the  sea-calm,  caused  his  heart  to  quake. 

The  last  light  of  the  moon  was  glimmering  drear, 

As  on  the  lonely  ocean  it  drew  near, 

Sending  a  mountain-ridge  of  billows  before ; 

And  straight  behind  the  heaving  stern  he  saw 

The  million-headed  hydra,  black  and  frore, 

With  crest  enormous  o'er  the  surge,  and  eyes 

Yellow  in  moonlight,  rise  ; 

And  —  as  it  shouldered  aside,  and  thundered  past, 

The  seas,  foam-maddened  by  the  rushing  blast 

Of  its  swift  motion  —  sloky  masses  vast, 

Of  serpent  black,  ravenous  with  mouth  and  claw. 

Innumerable  monsters  joined  in  one 

Writhed  from  its  sides,  and  hissed  its  back  upon, 

Erect  with  rage,  or  sleek  with  black  disdain, 

Fierce-eyed  and  multitudinous,  bursting  forth, 

Horrored  for  one  dread  mile  the  shaken  main  j 

But  on  the  monster's  brow,  risen  from  sleep, 

Rested  the  awe  of  the  deep ; 

And  round  it  spread  a  shadow  and  a  breath 

Cold  as  the  ice,  and  imminent  as  death, 

As  dawn  with  moonlight  mingled,  from  beneath 

Broadening,  beheld  it  vanish  toward  the  north. 

Stiffened  with  dread,  and  dumb,  the  helmsman  stood, 
As  through  that  long  black  valley  in  the  flood 


222  IN  THE  SEA. 

The  last  huge  monster  of  the  early  world 

Shook  the  great  seas  with  unaccustomed  fears  ; 

And  dumb  remained  when  morning's  crimson  curled 

Over  the  vast ;  nor  spake  he  till  death's  hour 

Of  it,  whose  shape  of  power 

Sleeps  underneath  the  sun  and  moon  alone, 

In  polar  ocean's  solitudes  alone, 

Mid  alps  of  ice,  lulled  by  tempest's  moan,  — 

Then  but  to  man  appears  once  in  a  thousand  years. 

ALFRED  M.  WILLIAMS. 


IN    THE    SEA. 

THE  salt  wind  blows  upon  my  cheek 
As  it  blew  a  year  ago, 
When  twenty  boats  were  crushed  among 

The  rocks  of  Norman's  Woe. 

'Twas  dark  then  :  'tis  light  now ; 

And  the  sails  are  leaning  low. 

In  dreams  I  pull  the  seaweed  o'er, 

And  find  a  face  not  his, 
And  hope  another  tide  will  be 

More  pitying  than  this. 
The  wind  turns,  the  tide  turns : 

They  take  what  hope  there  is. 

My  life  goes  on  as  thine  would  go 
With  all  its  sweetness  spilled  : 

My  God  !  why  should  one  heart  of  two 
Beat  on  when  one  is  stilled  ? 

Through  heart-wreck  or  home-wreck 
Thy  happy  sparrows  build. 


BY  THE  BAY.  223 

Though  boats  go  down,  men  build  anew, 

Whatever  winds  may  blow  : 
If  blight  be  in  the  wheat  one  year, 

We  trust  again,  and  sow, 
Though  grief  comes,  and  changes 

The  sunshine  into  snow. 

Some  have  their  dead,  where,  sweet  and  low 

The  summers  bloom  and  go. 
The  sea  withholds  my  dead  :  I  walk 

The  bar,  when  tides  are  low, 
And  wonder  the  grave-grass 

Can  have  the  heart  to  grow. 

Flow  on,  O  unconsenting  sea  ! 

And  keep  my  dead  below : 
Though  night,  oh,  utter  night !  my  soul, 

Delude  thee  long,  I  know, 
Or  life  Gomes,  or  death  comes, 

God  lends  the  eternal  flow. 

HIRAM  RICH. 


BY    THE    BAY. 

ON  the  smooth  shore  I  stand  alone,  and  see 
A  wonder  in  the  distance  :  there  the  bay, 
Drawn  on  to  meet  and  mingle  far  away 
With  the  broad  sky's  unstained  serenity, 
Pauses  at  last  from  panting  restlessly, 
Smooths  his  short  waves,  and,  scorning  to  delay, 
Falls  from  the  rounded  world  with  all  his  weight 
In  silence  through  the  silences  below, 
Where  nothing  balks  the  aimless  overflow, 
Till  all  the  solid  waters  separate, 


224  FROM  "A   LOOKING-GLASS." 

Split  into  streams,  that  bursting  as  they  go 
Fly  off  in  rain,  that  ends  in  scattered  spray, 
And  mist  that  rises  for  the  winds  to  blow 
Hither  and  thither  in  unending  play. 

ROBERT  K.  WEEKS. 


FROM    "A    LOOKING-GLASS    FOR    LONDON    AND 

ENGLAND." 

TO  the  seas  with  blitheful  western  blasts 
We  sailed  amain,  and  let  the  bowline  fly. 
Scarce  had  we  gone  ten  leagues  from  sight  of  land, 
But,  lo  !  an  host  of  black  and  sable  clouds 
'Gan  to  eclipse  Lucina's  silver  face ; 
And  with  a  hurling  noise,  from  forth  the  south 
A  gust  of  wind  did  rear  the  billows  up : 
Then  scantled  we  our  sails  with  speedy  hands, 
And  took  our  drablers  from  our  bonnets  straight, 
And  severed  our  bonnets  from  our  courses  : 
Our  topsails  up,  we  truss  our  spritsails  in. 
But  vainly  strive  they  that  resist  the  heavens. 
For,  lo  !  the  waves  incense  them  more  and  more, 
Mounting  with  hideous  roarings  from  the  depth. 
Our  bark  is  battered  by  encountering  storms, 
1  And  well-nigh  stemmed  by  breaking  of  the  floods. 
The  steersman,  pale  and  careful,  holds  his  helm, 
Wherein  the  trust  of  life  and  safety  lay ; 
Till,  all  at  once  (a  mortal  tale  to  tell) 
Our  sails  were  split  by  Bisa's  bitter  blast, 
Our  rudder  broke,  and  we  bereft  of  hope. 
There  might  you  see,  with  pale  and  ghastly  looks, 
The  dead  in  thought,  and  doleful  merchants  lift 
Their  eyes  and  hands  unto  their  country's  gods. 


FROM  "  THE  SEA."  225 

The  goods  we  cast  in  bowels  of  the  sea, 

A  sacrifice  to  'suage  proud  Neptune's  ire. 

Only  alone  a  man  of  Israel, 

A  passenger,  did  under  hatches  lie, 

And  slept  secure,  when  we  for  succor  prayed. 

Him  I  awoke,  and  said,  "  Why  slumberest  thou? 

Arise  and  pray,  and  call  upon  thy  God  : 

He  will  perhaps  in  pity  look  on  us." 

Then  cast  we  lots  to  know  by  whose  amiss 

Our  mischief  came,  according  to  the  guise ; 

And,  lo  !  the  lot  did  unto  Jonas  fall,. 

The  Israelite  of  whom  I  told  you  last. 

Then  question  we  his  country  and  his  name ; 

Who  answered  us,  "  I  am  an  Hebrew  born, 

Who  fear  the  Lord  of  heaven,  who  made  the  sea, 

And  fled  from  him,  for  which  we  all  are  plagued : 

So,  to  assuage  the  fury  of  my  God, 

Take  me,  and  cast  my  carcass  in  the  sea ; 

Then  shall  this  stormy  wind  and  billow  cease." 

The  heavens  they  know,  the  Hebrew's  God  can  tell, 

How  loath  we  were  to  execute  his  will : 

But,  when  no  oars  nor  labor  might  suffice, 

We  heaved  the  hapless  Jonas  overboard. 

So  ceased  the  storm,  and  calmed  all  the  sea, 

And  we  by  strength  of  oars  recovered  shore. 

ROBERT  GREENE. 
FROM    "THE    SEA." 

(A   BALLAD.) 

I  HAVE  no  hope,  I  have  no  light ; 
For  me  the  sun  burns  wan  and  gray ; 
I  see  the  shadows  of  the  night 
Stream  .far  into  the  golden  day. 


226  FROM  "  THE  SEA." 

One  year  ago,  across  the  sea 

I  saw  a  brave  ship  swiftly  sail, 
The  shining  water  far  a-lee 

Just  rippled  by  the  rising  gale. 

• 

I  stood  on  yonder  beetling  rock, 

And  watched  her  as  she  sped  along : 

The  waves  rolled  in  with  thunderous  shock, 
And  filled  the  air  with  mighty  song. 

The  sun  sank  slowly  in  the  west ; 

The  moon,  a  sphere  of  amber,  came 
Rising  above  the  ocean's  breast, 

And  made  its  waters  burn  like  flame. 

And,  fringed  with  gold,  the  fading  sails 
Went  sinking  slowly  out  of  sight ; 

And  from  afar  the  sea-gull's  hails 

Rang  sharply  through  the  deepening  night. 

He  whom  my  soul  held  high  and  dear 
Had  kissed  me,  and  sailed  o'er  the  sea, 

Saying,  "  Sweetheart,  in  one  short  year, 
Alive  or  dead,  I'll  come  to  thee." 

Day  after  day  my  watch  I've  kept : 
Where  his  ship  made  a  foamy  path, 

I've  seen  the  sea  by  tempests  swept, 
And  wild  waves  tossing  high  in  wrath ; 

I've  seen  the  sunset's  golden  light 

Run  o'er  the  waves  in  lengthened  sweep, 

And  watched  the  morning's  radiance  bright 
Flash  down  the  hollows  of  the  deep. 


FROM  "  THE  SEA."  227 

Week  followed  week  :  the  long  months  grew 
Through  weary  hours  that  had  no  cheer, 

Save  the  one  thought,  he  loves  me  true ; 
And  brought  to-day  the  ripened  year 

No  word  from  him  ;  no  letter  came 

To  make  Time's  footsteps  grow  more  fleet, 

Though  in  my  soul  his  cherished  name 
Rang  through  refrains  both  sad  and  sweet. 

This  morn  I  said,  "  To-day  I'll  know 

What  future  years  will  hold  for  me  : 
For  boundless  joy  or  bitter  woe 

Will  come  across  the  sunlit  sea." 

With  lingering  steps  I  took  my  way 
Down  to  the  shining  stretch  of  sand  : 

The  cool,  sweet  waters  of  the  bay, 
Rich  with  rare  color,  kissed  the  land. 

The  vast  immensity  of  waves 

Came  shoreward,  full  of  murmurous  sound, 
Telling  of  far,  dim,  coral  caves, 

And  wrecks  by  seaweed  garlands  crowned. 

There  was  no  wind  :  the  ocean  rolled 
In  wide,  long  sweeps  upon  the  beach ; 

And  broadening  columns  of  red  gold 
Lay  rippling  on  the  sailless  reach. 

Then  up  against  the  eastern  bine 

A  swaying  ship  rose  high  and  fast : 
Canvas  and  hull  the  sun  shone  through, 

And  luminous  were  yard  and  mast. 


228  FROM  "  THE  SEA." 

Her  strong  spars  bent ;  her  hempen  sail 
Seemed  bursting  with  a  fearful  strain ; 

And,  as  if  driven  by  a  gale, 

She  swiftly  sped  across  the  main. 

And  all  the  while  the  water  lay 
Unruffled  even  by  a  breeze  ; 

And  down  the  reaches  of  the  bay 
The  gulls  winged  slowly  at  their  ease. 

I  shivered  as  the  ship  drew  near ; 

I  heard  hoarse  calls  from  her  arise : 
Cold  grew  my  heart  with  dread  and  fear ; 

And  yet  I  could  not  turn  my  eyes. 

On,  on,  she  came ;  then  with  a  roar 
Her  dark  sails  fluttered  wild  and  rent ; 

Her  spars  gave  way,  and  tumbled  o'er 
A  deck  where  storm  and  tumult  blent. 

The  great  hull  swayed  and  tossed  about, 
With  masts  and  cordage  all  a-wreck  ; 

And  mad  waves  seemed  to  roar  and  shout 
Along  the  riven  oaken  deck. 

Then  slowly  down  the  sea  she  sank ; 

And  for  a  moment,  cold  and  white, 
His  face,  mid  rope  and  driftings  dank, 

Shone,  and  then  faded  from  my  sight. 

Roll  up  across  the  shining  sand, 

O  sad,  wild  waves,  so  deep  and  cold  ! 

For  somewhere  in  your  empire  grand 
My  shipwrecked  sailor's  form  you  hold. 


FROM  "  THE  SEA." 

And  I  have  neither  hope  nor  light ; 

For  me  the  sun  grows  wan  and  gray, 
And  the  drear  shadows  of  the  night 

Stream  far  into  the  golden  day. 

THOMAS  S.  COLLIER. 


229 


EA-SPRAY. 


BREEZY  waves  toss  up  their  silvery  spray. 

HOOD:  Ode  to  the  Moon. 


"GOD    KNOWS." 

OH  !  wild  and  dark  was  the  winter  night 
When  the  emigrant-ship  went  down 
But  just  outside  of  the  harbor-bar, 
In  the  sight  of  the  startled  town. 
The  winds  howled,  and  the  sea  roared ; 

And  never  a  soul  could  sleep, 
Save  the  little  ones  on  their  mothers'  breasts, 
Too  young  to  watch  and  weep. 

No  boat  could  live  in  the  angry  surf; 

No  boat  could  reach  the  land  : 
There  were  bold,  brave  hearts  upon  the  shore ; 

There  was  many  a  ready  hand,  — 
Women  who  prayed,  and  men  who  strove 

When  prayers  and  work  were  vain  ; 
For  the  sun  rose  over  the  awful  void 

And  the  silence  of  the  main. 

All  day  the  watchers  paced  the  sands, 

All  day  they  scanned  the  deep ; 
All  night  the  booming  minute-guns 

Echoed  from  steep  to  steep. 

233 


234  SOA'G. 

"  Give  up  thy  dead,  O  cruel  sea  !  " 

They  cried  athwart  the  space ; 
But  only  a  baby's  fragile  form 

Escaped  from  its  stern  embrace. 

Only  one  little  child  of  all 

Who  with  the  ship  went  down 
That  night,  when  the  happy  babies  slept 

So  warm  in  the  sheltered  town. 
Wrapped  in  the  glow  of  the  morning  light, 

It  lay  on  the  shifting  sand, 
As  fair  as  a  sculptor's  marble  dream, 

With  a  shell  in  its  dimpled  hand. 

There  were  none  to  tell  of  its  race  or  kin. 

"  God  knoweth,"  the  pastor  said, 
When  the  sobbing  children  crowded  to  ask 

The  name  of  the  baby  dead. 
And  so,  when  they  laid  it  away  at  last 

In  the  churchyard's  hushed  repose, 
They  raised  a  stone  at  the  baby's  head, 

With  the  carven  words,  "  God  knows." 

JULIA  C.  R.  DORR. 


SONG. 

FROM  high,  the  seaman's  wearied  sight 
Spies  the  green  forest  with  delight, 
Which  seems  to  promise  rest  and  joy ; 
But  woe  is  him,  if  hope  deceives, 
If  his  fond  eye  too  late  perceives 
The  breakers  lurking  to  destroy. 


OLIVIA.  235 

Oh,  sweetest  pledge  of  love  and  pleasure, 
Enchanting  smile  !  thy  depth  I'll  measure, 

Wary,  as  in  the  shallow  tide ; 
That,  if  beneath  that  garb  of  beauty 
The  mind  has  shoals  to  wreck  my  duty, 

I  straight  may  seek  the  waters  wide. 

JOHANNES  EVALD. 


OLIVIA. 

WHAT  are  the  long  waves   singing   so   mournfully 
evermore  ? 
What  are  they  singing  so  mournfully  as  they  weep  on  the 

sandy  shore  ? 

"  Olivia,  O  Olivia  !  "  what  else  can  it  seem  to  be  ? 
"  Olivia,  lost  Olivia,  will  never  return  to  thee. 
Olivia,  lost  Olivia  ! "  what  else  can  the  sad  song  be? 
"  Weep  and  mourn  :  she  will  not  return,  she  can  not  re- 
turn, to  thee." 

And  strange  it  is  when  the  low  wind  sighs,  and  strange 
when  the  loud  winds  blow, 

In  the  rustle  of  trees,  in  the  roar  of  the  storm,  in  the 
sleepiest  streamlet's  flow, 

Forever,  from  ocean  or  river,  arises  the  same  sad 
moan  : 

She  sleeps  ;  let  her  sleep  ;  wake  her  not ;  it  were  best  she 
should  rest,  and  alone. 

Forever  the  same  sad  requiem  comes  up  from  the  sorrow- 
ful sea, 

For  the  lovely,  the  lost  Olivia,  who  cannot  return  to 
me. 


236  OLIVIA. 

Alas  !  I  fear  'tis  not  in  the  air,  or  the  sea,  or  the  trees, 
that  strain  : 

I  fear  'tis  a  wrung  heart  aching,  and  the  throb  of  a  tor- 
tured brain ; 

And  the  shivering  whisper  of  startled  leaves,  and  the  sob 
of  the  waves  as  they  roll, 

I  fear  they  are  only  the  echo  of  the  song  of  a  suffering 
soul; 

Are  only  the  passionless  echo  of  the  voice  that  is  ever 
with  me,  — 

"The  lovely,  the  lost  Olivia  will  never  return  to  thee." 

I  stand  in  the  dim,  gray  morning  where  once  I  stood  to 
mark, 

Gliding  away  along  the  bay,  like  a  bird,  her  white-winged 
bark ; 

And  when  through  the  Golden  Gate  the  sunset  radiance 
rolled, 

And  the  tall  masts  melted  to  thinnest  threads  in  the  glow- 
ing haze  of  gold, 

I  said,  "To  thine  arms  I  give  her,  O  kind  and  shining 
sea  ! 

And  in  one  long  moon  from  this  June  you  shall  let  her 
return  to  me." 

But  the  wind  from  the  far  spice-islands  came  back ;  and  it 

sang  with  a  sigh, 
"  The  ocean  is  rich  with  treasure  it  has  hidden  from  you 

and  the  sky." 
And  where,  amid  rocks  and  the  green  seaweed,  the  storm 

and  tide  were  at  war, 
The  night-sought  waste  was  still  vacant  when  I  looked  to 

the  cloud  and  the  star ; 


OLIVIA.  237 

And  soon  the  sad  wind  and  dark  ocean  unceasingly  sang 

unto  me, 
"  The  lovely,  the  lost  Olivia  will  never  return  to  thee." 

Dim   and    still   the    landscape    lies,   but    shadowless  as 

heaven ; 
For  the  growing  morn  and  the  low  west  moon  on  every 

thing  shine  even  : 
The  ghosts  of  the  lost  have  departed,  that  nothing  can 

ever  redeem ; 
And  Nature,  in  light,  sweet  slumber,  is  dreaming   her 

morning  dream. 
'Tis  morn ;  and  our  Lord  has  awakened,  and  the  souls  of 

the  blest  are  free  : 
Oh,  come  from  the  caves  of  the  ocean  !  Olivia,  return 

unto  me  ! 

What  thrills  me?     What  comes  near  me?     Do  I  stand 

on  the  sward  alone? 
Was  that  a  light  wind,  or  a  whisper?  a  touch,  or  the  pulse 

of  a  tone  ? 
Olivia,  whose  spells  from  thy  slumber  my  broken  heart 

sway  and  control, 
At  length  bring'st  thou  death  to  me,  dearest,  or  rest  to 

my  suffering  soul? 
No  sound  but  the  psalm  of  the  ocean ;  bow  down  to  the 

solemn  decree  : 
"The  lovely,  the  lost  Olivia  will  never  return  to  thee." 

And  still  are  the  long  waves  singing  so  mournfully  ever- 
more; 

Still  are  they  singing  so  mournfully  as  they  weep  on  the 
sandy  shore,  — 


238  EVENING. 

"  Olivia,  lost  Olivia  !  "  so  ever  'tis  doomed  to  be  ; 
"  Olivia,  lost  Olivia,  will  never  return  to  thee. 
Olivia,  lost  Olivia  !  "  what  else  could  the  sad  song  be? 
"  Weep  and  mourn  :  she  will  not  return,  she  can  not  return, 
to  thee." 

EDWARD  POLLOCK. 


EVENING. 

A  LEVEL  sea ; 
A  film  of  blue 
Covering  the  coast-line ; 
A  sail  or  two ; 

A  ship  asleep 

On  the  offing's  breast ; 
A  blood-red  ball 

Low  down  in  the  west ; 

A  poplar  perched 

High  on  the  hill, 
Back  'gainst  the  crimson, 

Stark  and  still. 

Now  fades  the  great  ball,  — 

It  was  the  sun,  — 
And  sky  and  ocean 

Melt  into  one. 

Now  the  mists,  like  a  tide, 

Slowly  lift  and  lift, 
Till  all  the  landscape 

Is  set  adrift. 

GEORGE  HOUGHTON. 


THE  MARINER'S  BRIDE.  239 


THE    MARINER'S    BRIDE. 

LOOK,  mother  !  the  mariner's  rowing 
His  galley  adown  the  tide  : 
I'll  go  where  the  mariner's  going, 
And  be  the  mariner's  bride. 

I  saw  him  one  day  through  the  wicket : 

I  opened  the  gate,  and  we  met ; 

As  a  bird  in  the  fowler's  net, 
Was  I  caught  in  my  own  green  thicket. 

O  mother  !  my  tears  are  flowing ; 
I've  lost  my  maidenly  pride  : 

I'll  go  if  the  mariner's  going, 
And  be  the  mariner's  bride. 

This  Love,  the  tyrant,  evinces, 

Alas  !  an  omnipotent  might : 

He  darkens  the  mind  like  night ; 
He  treads  on  the  necks  of  princes. 

O  mother  !  my  bosom  is  glowing ; 
I'll  go,  whatever  betide  : 

I'll  go  where  the  mariner's  going, 
And  be  the  mariner's  bride. 

Yes,  mother,  the  spoiler  has  reft  me 

Of  reason  and  self-control : 

Gone,  gone,  is  my  wretched  soul, 
And  only  my  body  is  left  me. 

The  winds,  O  mother  !  are  blowing ; 
The  ocean  is  bright  and  wide  : 

I'll  go  where  the  mariner's  going, 
And  be  the  mariner's  bride. 

TRANSLATED  BY  MANGAN  FROM  THE  SPANISH. 


240          A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA. 

A  SONG  OF  THE  SEA. 

/^TAHERE  is  a  plough  that  hath  no  share, 
JL     But  a  coulter  that  parteth  keen  and  fair. 

The  furrows  rise 

To  a  terrible  size 

Or  ever  the  plough  hath  touched  them  there. 
'Gainst  horses  and  plough  in  wrath  they  shake  : 
The  horses  are  fierce,  but  the  plough  will  break. 

And  the  seed  that  is  dropped  in  those  furrows  of  fear 

Will  lift  to  the  sun  neither  blade  nor  ear. 
Down  it  drops  plumb, 
Where  no  spring-times  come  ; 

Nor  needeth  it  any  harrowing-gear : 

Wheat,  nor  poppy,  nor  any  leaf, 

Will  cover  this  naked  ground  of  grief. 

But  a  harvest-day  will  come  at  last, 
When  the  watery  winter  all  is  past : 

The  furrows  so  gray 

Shall  be  shorn  away 
By  the  angels'  sickles  keen  and  fast ; 
And  the  buried  harvest  of  the  sea 
Stored  in  the  barns  of  eternity. 

GEORGE  MACDONALD. 


THE    LANGUAGE    OF    THE    SEA. 

I  SPOKE  ;  but,  if  my  voice  was  heard, 
You  did  not  answer  me, 
But  looked  with  painful  earnestness 
Far  at  the  foaming  sea. 


THE  SEA-BIRD'S  SONG.  241 

The  breakers  caught  the  glance  and  thought, 

And  in  a  wondrous  strain, 
With  tones  of  solemn  melody 

They  brought  them  back  again. 

And  what  your  glances  did  not  tell 

I  heard  in  that  deep  voice, 
And  what  to  you  was  strange  and  sad 

First  made  my  heart  rejoice. 

Oh  !  it  was  well  that  none  around 

Who  laughed  so  merrily, 
Had  ever  learned  on  life's  great  shore 

The  language  of  the  sea. 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 


THE    SEA-BIRD'S    SONG. 

ON  the  deep  is  the  mariner's  danger ; 
On  the  deep  is  the  mariner's  death ; 
Who,  to  fear  of  the  tempest  a  stranger, 
Sees  the  last  bubble  burst  of  his  breath? 
'Tis  the  sea-bird,  sea-bird,  sea-bird, 

Lone  looker  on  despair ; 
The  sea-bird,  sea-bird,  sea-bird, 
The  only  witness  there. 

Who  watches  their  course,  who  so  mildly 
Careen  to  the  kiss  of  the  breeze  ? 

Who  lists  to  their  shrieks,  who  so  wildly 
Are  clasped  in  the  arms  of  the  seas? 
}Tis  the  sea-bird,  etc. 


242  THOUGH  LOST  TO  SIGHT. 

Who  hovers  on  high  o'er  the  lover, 
And  her  who  has  clung  to  his  neck  ? 

Whose  wing  is  the  wing  that  can  cover 
With  its  shadow  the  foundering  wreck? 
Tis  the  sea-bird,  etc. 

My  eye  in  the  light  of  the  billow, 
My  wing  on  the  wake  of  the  wave, 

I  shall  take  to  my  breast  for  a  pillow 
The  shroud  of  the  fair  and  the  brave. 
I'm  the  sea-bird,  etc. 

My  foot  on  the  iceberg  has  lighted, 

When  hoarse  the  wild  winds  veer  about ; 
My  eye,  when  the  bark  is  benighted, 
Sees  the  lamp  of  the  lighthouse  go  out. 
I'm  the  sea-bird,  sea-bird,  sea-bird, 

Lone  looker  on  despair ; 
The  sea-bird,  sea-bird,  sea-bird, 
The  only  witness  there. 

JOHN  GARDINER  CAULKINS  BRAINARD. 


THOUGH    LOST    TO    SIGHT,    TO    MEMORY    DEAR. 

O  WEETHEART,  good-by  !  the  fluttering  sail 
O  Is  spread  to  waft  me  far  from  thee ; 
And  soon,  before  the  favoring  gale, 

My  ship  shall  bound  upon  the  sea. 
Perchance,  all  desolate  and  forlorn, 

These  eyes  shall  miss  thee  many  a  year ; 
But  unforgotten  every  charm  : 

Though  lost  to  sight,  to  memory  dear. 


THE  LITTLE  BEACH-BIRD.  243 

Sweetheart,  good-by  !  one  last  embrace  : 

O  cruel  fate  !  true  souls  to  sever ; 
Yet,  in  this  heart's  most  sacred  place, 

Thou,  thou  alone,  shalt  dwell  forever. 
And  still  shall  recollection  trace 

In  fancy's  mirror,  ever  near, 
Each  smile,  each  tear,  that  form,  that  face : 

Though  lost  to  sight,  to  memory  dear. 

GEORGE  LINLEY  (GREENWICH  MAGAZINE  FOR  MARINERS,  1701). 


THOU    LITTLE    BEACH-BIRD. 


little  bird,  thou  dweller  by  sea, 
JL    Why  takest  thou  its  melancholy  voice, 
And  with  that  boding  cry 
Along  the  waves  dost  thou  fly  ? 
Oh,  rather,  bird,  with  me 
Through  the  fair  land  rejoice  ! 

Thy  flitting  form  comes  ghostly  dim  and  pale, 
-  As  driven  by  a  beating  storm  at  sea  : 
Thy  cry  is  weak  and  scared, 
As  if  thy  mates  had  shared 
The  doom  of  us.     Thy  wail, 
What  does  it  bring  to  me  ? 

Thou  call'st  along  the  sand,  and  haunt'st  the  surge, 
Restless  and  sad,  as  if,  in  strange  accord 
With  the  motion  and  the  roar 
Of  waves  that  drive  to  shore, 
One.spirit  did  ye  urge,  — 
The  Mystery  —  the  Word. 


244      THE    WATERS  ARE  RISIXG  AND  FLOWING. 

Of  thousands,  thou  both  sepulchre  and  pall, 
Old  Ocean,  art.     A  requiem  o'er  the  dead, 
From  out  thy  gloomy  cells 
A  tale  of  mourning  tells,  — 
Tells  of  man's  woe  and  fall, 
His  sinless  glory  fled. 

Then  turn  thee,  little  bird,  and  take  thy  flight 
Where  the  complaining  sea  shall  sadness  bring 
Thy  spirit  nevermore. 
Come,  quit  with  me  the  shore, 
For  gladness  and  the  light, 
Where  birds  of  summer  sing. 

RICHARD  HENRY  DANA. 


'HE    WATERS    ABE    RISING    AND    FLOWING. 

THE  waters  are  rising  and  flowing 
Over  the  weedy  stone, 
Over  it,  over  it  going  : 
It  is  never  gone. 

So  joy  after  joy  may  go  sweeping 

Over  the  ancient  pain  : 
Drowned  in  waves  and  waves  of  weeping, 

It  will  rise  again. 

GEORGE  MACDONALD. 


THE    TWO    SHIPS. 

AS  I  stand  by  the  cross  on  the  lone  mountain's  crest, 
Looking  over  the  ultimate  sea, 
In  the  gloom  of  the  mountain  a  ship  lies  at  rest, 
And  one  sails  away  from  the  lea : 


WHY  THE  SEA    COMPLAINS.  245 

One  spreads  its  white  wings  on  a  far-reaching  track, 

With  pennant  and  sheet  flowing  free  ; 
One  hides  in  the  shadow,  with  sails  laid  aback,  — 

The  ship  that  is  waiting  for  me. 

But  lo  !  in  the  distance  the  clouds  break  away  ; 

The  Gate's  glowing  portals  I  see ; 
And  I  hear  from  the  outgoing  ship  in  the  bay 

The  song  of  the  sailors  in  glee. 
So  I  think  of  the  luminous  footprints  that  bore 

The  comfort  o'er  dark  Galilee, 
And  wait  for  the  signal  to  go  to  the  shore, 

To  the  ship  that  is  waiting  for  me. 

BRET  HARTE. 

WHY    THE    SEA    COMPLAINS. 

EARLY  in  boyhood  the  sighing  and  sobbing 
Sound  of  the  sea-wave  was  oft  in  my  ears, 
Drowning  the  voice  of  my  crying,  and  robbing 

Sleep  from  young  eyes  growing  pale  from  their  tears. 
Down  by  the  shore,  when  the  morning  was  breaking, 

Often  I  questioned  and  pitied  the  sea ; 
And  the  great  deep,  from  its  sad  sorrow  waking, 
One  day  grew  calm,  and  made  answer  to  me. 

That  was  the  time  of  his  tender  confession  ; 

That  was  the  hour  when  his  secret  was  told ; 
Just  as  the  sun  and  his  royal  procession 

Marched  up  the  east  with  their  banners  of  gold ; 
Just  as  a  rivulet,  loving,  elated, 

Paused  for  a  moment  for  strength,  ere  she  sprang 
Into  the  arms  of  Old  Ocean,  who  waited 

To  answer  the  questioning  song  that  I  sang. 


246  TO  SEA. 

Ocean,  give  ear  to  the  musical  waters 

Sliding  down  hillside,  and  gliding  through  lea,  — 

The  bright  little  brooklet  that  saucily  scatters 
Sparkling,  pure  drops,  as  in  prodigal  glee, 

And  in  trustful  profusion  she  pours  out  for  thee 

Her  life's  blood  !     Now,  what  wilt  thou  give  her,  O 
sea? 

"  I  will  give  her  my  all,  —  my  heart  and  my  treasure,  — 
And  cherish  her  ever  with  tenderest  care. 

She  may  float  on  my  bosom,  and  lie  at  her  leisure 
In  these  briny  arms  :  but  the  sun  will  not  spare 

One  so  lovely  and  fair ;  some  sweet  summer-day 
He  will  dazzle  and  charm  her,  and  steal  her  away. 

"All  my  life  long  I  am  mourning  in  sorrow, 
Longing  for  loves  he  has  taken  from  me  : 

Only  the  hope  of  some  swift-coming  morrow 
Calms  the  sad  soul  of  the  sullen,  salt  sea, 

When  brooklet  and  dewdrop,  and  soft  summer  rain, 
May  bring  to  my  bosom  my  darlings  again." 

SIMEON  TUCKER  CLARK. 


TO    SEA. 

TO  sea,  to  sea  !     The  calm  is  o'er ; 
The  wanton  water  leaps  in  sport, 
And  rattles  down  the  pebbly  shore ; 

The  dolphin  wheels,  the  sea-cows  snort, 
And  unseen  mermaids'  pearly  song 
Comes  bubbling  up  the  weeds  among. 
Fling  broad  the  sail,  dip  deep  the  oar : 
To  sea,  to  sea  !     The  calm  is  o'er. 


A    CRY  FROM   THE  SHORE.  247 

To  sea,  to  sea  !     Our  white-winged  bark 
Shall  billowing  cleave  its  watery  way, 

And  with  its  shadow,  fleet  and  dark, 
Break  the  caved  Triton's  azure  day, 

Like  mountain  eagle  soaring  light 

O'er  antelopes  on  Alpine  height. 

The  anchor  heaves,  the  ship  swings  free, 

Our  sails  swell  full :  to  sea,  to  sea  ! 

THOMAS  LOVELL  BEUDOES. 


A    CRY    FROM    THE    SHORE. 


down,  ye  graybeard  mariners, 
Unto  the  wasting  shore  ! 
The  morning  winds  are  up.     The  gods 

Bid  me  to  dream  no  more. 
Come,  tell  me  whither  I  must  sail, 

What  peril  there  may  be, 

Before  I  take  my  life  in  hand, 

And  venture  out  to  sea." 

"  We  may  not  tell  thee  where  to  sail, 

Nor  what  the  dangers  are  : 
Each  sailor  soundeth  for  himself, 

Each  hath  a  separate  star. 
Each  sailor  soundeth  for  himself: 

And  on  the  awful  sea 
W7hat  we  have  learned  is  ours  alone  j 

We  may  not  tell  it  thee." 

"  Come  back,  O  ghostly  mariners, 

Ye  who  have  gone  before  ! 
I  dread  the  dark,  impetuous  tides  : 

I  dread  the  farther  shore. 


248  POOR  JACK. 

Tell  me  the  secret  of  the  waves ; 

Say  what  my  fate  shall  be  — 
Quick  !  for  the  mighty  winds  are  up, 

And  will  not  wait  for  me." 

"  Hail  and  farewell,  O  voyager  ! 

Thyself  must  read  the  waves  : 
What  we  have  learned  of  sun  and  storm 

Lies  with  us  in  our  graves ; 
What  we  have  learned  of  sun  and  storm 

Is  ours  alone  to  know. 
The  winds  are  blowing  out  to  sea, 

Take  up  thy  life  and  go  !  " 

ELLEN  MACKAY  HUTCHINSON. 


POOR    JACK. 

I. 

GO  patter  to  lubbers  and  swabs,  d'ye  see, 
'Bout  danger  and  fear  and  the  like  : 
A  tight  water-boat  and  a  good  sea-room  give  me, 
And  t'ent  to  a  little  I'll  strike. 

Though   the   tempest    topgallant-masts    smack    smooth 

should  smite, 

And  shiver  each  splinter  of  wood, 
Clear  the  wreck,  stow  the  yards,  and  bowse  every  thing 

tight, 
And  under  reefed  foresail  we'll  scud. 

Avast !  nor  don't  think  me  a  milk-sop  so  soft, 

To  be  taken  for  trifles  aback ; 
For  they  say  there's  a  Providence  sits  up  aloft 

To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  Jack. 


POOR  JACK.  249 

II. 

I  heard  our  good  chaplain  palaver  one  day 

About  souls,  heaven,  mercy,  and  such ; 
And,  my  timbers  !  what  lingo  he'd  coil  and  belay  ! 

Why,  'twas  just  all  as  one  as  High  Dutch. 

He  said  how  a  sparrow  can't  founder,  d'ye  see, 

Without  orders  that  came  down  below ; 
And  many  fine  things,  that  proved  clearly  to  me 

That  Providence  takes  us  in  tow. 

For  says  he,  do  you  mind  me,  let  storms  e'er  so  oft 

Take  the  topsails  of  sailors  aback, 
There's  a  sweet  little  cherub  that  sits  up  aloft 

To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  Jack. 

in. 

I  said  to  our  Poll,  for,  d'ye  see,  she  would  cry 

When  last  we  weighed  anchor  for  sea, 
"What  argufies  snivelling,  and  piping  your  eye? 

Why,  what  a  damned  fool  you  must  be  ! 

"Can't  you  see,  the  world's  wide,  and  there's  room  for 
us  all, 

Both  for  seamen,  and  lubbers  ashore  ? 
And  if  to  old  Davy  I  should  go,  friend  Poll, 

You  never  will  hear  of  me  more. 

"  What  then  ?    All's  a  hazard  :  come,  don't  be  so  soft ; 

Perhaps  I  may  laughing  come  back ; 
For  d'ye  mind,  there's  a  cherub  sits  smiling  aloft 

To  keep  watch  for  the  life  of  poor  Jack." 


250  THE  SEA-MAID. 

IV. 
D'ye  mind  me,  a  sailor  should  be  every  inch 

All  as  one  as  a  piece  of  his  ship, 
And  with  her  brave  the  world,  without  offering  to  flinch 

For  the  moment  the  anchor's  a-trip. 

As  for  me,  in  all  weathers,  all  times,  sides,  and  ends, 
Nought's  a  trouble  from  duty  that  springs ; 

For  my  heart  is  my  Poll's,  and  my  rhino's  my  friend's, 
And,  as  for  my  life,  'tis  the  king's. 

Even  when  my  time  comes,  ne'er  believe  me  so  soft 

As  for  grief  to  be  taken  aback ; 
For  the  same  little  cherub  that  sits  up  aloft 

Will  look  out  a  good  berth  for  poor  Jack. 

CHARLES  DIBDIN. 


THE    SEA-MAID. 

A  MAIDEN  came  gliding  o'er  the  sea 
In  a  boat  as  light  as  boat  could  be ; 
And  she  sang,  in  tones  so  sweet  and  free, 
"  Oh  !  where  is  the  youth  that  will  follow  me  ?  " 

Her  forehead  was  white  as  the  pearly  shell, 
And  in  flickering  waves  her  ringlets  fell ; 
Her  bosom  heaved  with  a  gentle  swell, 
And  her  voice  was  a  distant  vesper-bell. 

And  still  she  sang,  while  the  western  light 
Fell  on  her  figure  so  soft  and  bright, 
"  Oh  !  where  shall  I  find  the  brave  young  sprite 
That  will  follow  the  track  of  my  skiff  to-night?" 


SAILING  BEYOND  SEAS.  251 

To  the  strand  the  youths  of  the  village  run, 
When  the  witching  song  has  scarce  begun ; 
And,  ere  the  set  of  that  evening  sun, 
Fifteen  bold  lovers  the  maid  has  won. 

They  hoisted  the  sail,  and  they  plied  the  oar, 
And  away  they  went  from  their  native  shore, 
While  the  damsel's  pinnace  flew  fast  before ; 
But  never,  oh,  never,  we  saw  them  more  ! 

JOHN  STERLING. 

SAILING    BEYOND    SEAS. 

METHOUGHT  the  stars  were  blinking  bright, 
And  the  old  brig's  sails  unfurled  : 
I  said,  "  I  will  sail  to  my  love  this  night, 

At  the  other  side  of  the  world." 
I  stepped  aboard :  we  sailed  so  fast 
The  sun  shot  up  from  the  bourn ; 
But  a  dove  that  perched  upon  the  mast 
Did  mourn,  and  mourn,  and  mourn. 
O  fair  dove  !  O  fond  dove  ! 

And  dove  with  the  white  fair  breast ! 
Let  me  alone,  the  dream  is  my  own, 
And  my  heart  is  full  of  rest. 

My  true  love  fares  on  this  great  hill, 

Feeding  his  sheep  for  aye  : . 
I  looked  in  his  hut,  but  all  was  still ; 

My  love  was  gone  away. 
I  went  to  gaze  in  the  forest-creek, 

And  the  dove  mourned  on  apace : 
No  flame  did  flash,  no  fair  blue  reek 

Rose  up  to  show  me  his  place. 


252  THE  STEAMBOAT. 

O  last  love  !  O  first  love  ! 

My  love  with  the  true  heart ! 
To  think  I  have  come  to  this  your  home, 

And  yet  we  are  apart ! 

My  love  !     He  stood  at  my  right  hand : 

His  eyes  were  grave  and  sweet. 
Methought  he  said,  "  In  this  fair  land 

Oh  !  is  it  thus  we  meet? 
Ah  !  maid  most  dear,  I  am  not  here  : 

I  have  no  place,  no  part, 
No  dwelling  more  by  sea  or  shore, 
But  only  in  thy  heart." 

O  fair  dove  !  O  fond  dove  ! 

Till  night  rise  over  the  bourn, 
The  dove  on  the  mast,  as  we  sailed  fast, 
Did  mourn,  and  mourn,  and  mourn. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 

THE    STEAMBOAT. 

SEE  how  yon  flaming  herald  treads 
The  ridged  and  rolling  waves, 
As,  crashing  o'er  their  crested  heads, 

She  bows  her  surly  slaves  ! 
With  foam  before,  and  fire  behind, 

She  rends  the  clinging  sea, 
That  flies  before  the  roaring  wind, 
Beneath  her  hissing  lee. 

The  morning  spray,  like  sea-born  flowers, 

With  heaped  and  glistening  bells, 
Falls  round  her  fast,  in  ringing  showers, 

With  every  wave  that  swells ; 


THE  STEAMBOAT.  253 


And  burning  o'er  the  midnight  deep, 

In  lurid  fringes  thrown, 
The  living  gems  of  ocean  sweep 

Along  her  flashing  zone. 


With  clashing  wheel,  and  lifting  keel, 

And  smoking  torch  on  high, 
When  winds  are  loud,  and  billows  reel, 

She  thunders  foaming  by ; 
When  seas  are  silent  and  serene, 

With  even  beam  she  glides, 
The  sunshine  glimmering  through  the  green 

That  skirts  her  gleaming  sides. 


Now  like  &  wild  nymph,  far  apart 

She  veils  her  shadowy  form, 
The  beating  of  her  restless  heart 

Still  sounding  through  the  storm ; 
Now  answers,  like  a  courtly  dame, 

The  reddening  surges  o'er, 
With  flying  scarf  of  spangled  flame, 

The  pharos  of  the  shore. 

To-night  yon  pilot  shall  not  sleep 

Who  trims  his  narrowed  sail ; 
To-night  yon  frigate  scarce  shall  keep 

Her  broad  breast  to  the  gale  ; 
And  many  a  foresail,  scooped  and  strained, 

Shall  break  from  yard  and  stay, 
Before  this  smoky  wreath  has  stained 

The  rising  mist  of  day. 


254  A    TUNE   ON  THE    WATER. 

Hark,  hark  !  I  hear  yon  whistling  shroud  ; 

I  see  yon  quivering  mast : 
The  black  throat  of  the  hunted  cloud 

Is  panting  forth  the  blast ! 
An  hour,  and,  whirled  like  winnowing  chaff, 

The  giant  surge  shall  fling 
His  tresses  o'er  yon  pennon-staff 

White  as  the  sea-bird's  wing  ! 

Yet  rest,  ye  wanderers  of  the  deep ; 

Nor  wind  nor  wave  shall  tire 
Those  fleshless  arms  whose  pulses  leap 

With  floods  of  living  fire  : 
Sleep  on,  and  when  the  morning  light 

Streams  o'er  the  shining  bay, 
Oh,  think  of  those  for  whom  the  night 

Shall  never  wake  in  day  ! 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


A    TUNE    ON    THE    WATER. 

OH,  what  a  thing 
Tis  for  you  and  for  me, 
On  an  evening  in  spring, 
To  sail  in  the  sea  ! 
The  little  fresh  airs 
Spread  their  silver  wings 
And  o'er  the  blue  pavement  ; 
Dance  love-makings : 

To  the  tune  of  the  waters,  and  tremulous  glee, 
They  strike  up  a  dance  to  people  at  sea. 

FRANCESCO  REDI. 

TRANSLATION  OF  LEIGH  HUNT. 


THE   OLD  SEAMAN.  255 

THE    OLD'    SEAMAN. 


YOU  ask  me  why  mine  eyes  are  bent 
So  darkly  on  the  sea, 
While  others  watch  the  azure  hills 
That  lengthen  on  the  lea. 


The  azure  hills,  they  soothe  the  sight 

That  fails  along  the  foam ; . 
And  those  may  hail  their  nearing  height 

Who  there  have  hope  or  home. 


But  I  a  loveless  path  have  trod, 

A  beaconless  career : 
My  hope  hath  long  been  all  with  God ; 

And  all  my  home  is  here. 

rv. 

The  deep  by  day,  the  heaven  by  night, 
Roll  onward  swift  and  dark, 

Nor  leave  my  soul  the  dove's  delight 
Of  olive-branch  or  ark. 

v. 

For  more. than  gale,  or  gulf,  or  sand, 
I've  proved  that  there  may  be 

Worse  treachery  on  the  steadfast  land 
Than  variable  sea ; 


256  THE   OLD  SEAMAN. 

VI. 
A  danger  worse  than  bay  or  beach, 

A  falsehood  more  unkind,  — 
The  treachery  of  a  governed  speech, 

And  an  ungoverned  mind  ; 

VII. 

The  treachery  of  the  deadly  mart 
Where  human  souls  are  sold ; 

The  treachery  of  the  hollow  heart 
That  crumbles  as  we  hold. 

VIII. 

Those  holy  hills  and  quiet  lakes  — 
Ah  !  wherefore  should  I  find 

This  weary  fever-fit,  that  shakes 
Their  image  in  my  mind? 

rx. 
The  memory  of  a  streamlet's  din 

Through  meadows  daisy-drest  — 
Another  might  be  glad  therein, 

And  yet  I  cannot  rest. 

x. 

I  cannot  rest,  unless  it  be 

Beneath  the  churchyard  yew ; 

But  God,  I  think,  hath  yet  for  me 
More  earthly  work  to  do. 

XI. 

And  therefore  with  a  quiet  will 

I  breathe  the  ocean  air, 
And  bless  the  voice  that  calls  me  still 

To  wander  and  to  bear. 


THE  SEA-SHELL.  257 

XII. 

Let  others  seek  their  native  sod 

Who  there  have  hearts  to  cheer : 
My  soul  hath  long  been  given  to  God, 

And  all  my  home  is  here. 

JOHN  RUSKIN. 

THE    SEA-SHELL. 

"  T   ISTEN,  darling,  and  tell  to  me 

\^j  What  the  murmurer  says  to  thee, 
Murmuring  'twixt  a  song  and  a  moan, 
Changing  neither  tune  nor  tone." 

"  Yes,  I  hear  it  —  far  and  faint, 
Like  thin-drawn  prayer  or  drowsy  saint, 
Like  the  falling  of  sleep  on  a  weary  brain 
When  the  fevered  heart  is  quiet  again." 

"  By  smiling  lip  and  fixed  eye, 
You  are  hearing  more  than  song  or  sigh : 
The  wrinkled  thing  has  curious  ways  — 
I  want  to  know  what  word  it  says." 

"  I  hear  a  wind  on  a  boatless  main 

Sigh  like  the  last  of  a  vanishing  pain ; 

On  the  dreaming  waters  dreams  the  moon : 

But  I  hear  no  words  in  their  murmured  tune." 

"  If  it  does  not  say  that  I  love  thee  well, 
Tis  a  senseless,  ill-curved,  worn-out  shell : 
If  it  is  not  of  love,  why  sigh  or  sing? 
'Tis  a  common,  mechanical,  useless  thing." 


258  FROM  "HANDY  ANDY." 

"  It  whispers  of  love,  —  'tis  a  prophet-shell,  — 
Of  a  peace  that  comes,  and  all  shall  be  well : 
It  speaks  not  a  word  of  your  love  to  me, 
But  it  tells  me  to  love  you  eternally." 

GEORGE  MACDOXALD. 


FROM    "  HANDY    ANDY." 

"  T  T  /"HAT  will  you  do,  love,  when  I  am  going, 
VV       With  white  sail  flowing, 

The  seas  beyond? 
What  will  you  do,  love,  when  waves  divide  us, 

And  friends  may  chide  us 

For  being  fond?  " 

"  Though  waves  divide  us,  and  friends  be  chiding, 

In  faith  abiding, 

I'll  still  be  true  ; 
And  I'll  pray  for  thee  on  the  stormy  ocean, 

In  deep  devotion  : 

That's  what  I'll  do." 

"  What  would  you  do,  love,  if  distant  tidings 

Thy  fond  confidings 

Should  undermine, 
And  I,  abiding  'neath  sultry  skies, 

Should  think  other  eyes 

Were  as  bright  as  thine  ?  " 

"  Oh,  name  it  not !     Though  guilt  and  shame 
Were  on  thy  name, 
I'd  still  be  true  ; 


SONG.  259 

But  that  heart  of  thine  —  should  another  share  it, 
I  could  not  bear  it : 
What  would  I  do  ?  " 


"  What  would  you  do,  love,  when  home  returning, 
With  hopes  high  burning, 
With  wealth  for  you,  — 
If  my  bark  that  bounded  on  foreign  foam 
Should  be  lost  near  home  : 
Ah  !  what  would  you  do  ?  " 

"  So  thou  wert  spared,  I'd  bless  the  morrow 

In  want  and  sorrow 

That  left  me  you  ; 
And  I'd  welcome  thee  from  the  wasting  billow, 

My  heart  thy  pillow  : 

That's  what  I'd  do." 

SAMUEL  LOVER. 


SONG. 

COOL  wind,  sweet  wind,  blowing  off  the  sea, 
Have  you  brought  from  Adelaide  the  kiss  she  sent 

to  me? 

Adelaide's  a  little  maid,  fair  as  summer  skies, 
All  the  dew,  and  all  the  blue  of  April,  in  her  eyes. 
Red  her  lips  like  strawberies,  or  cherries  cleft  in  two ; 
But  never  fruit  from  any  root  such   heavenly  sweetness 

drew : 

I  who  stole  a  kiss  from  them,  and  not  so  long  ago  — 
Cool  wind,  sweet  wind,  oughtn't  I  to  know? 


260     A    WET  SHEET  AND  A   FLOWING  SEA. 

Cool  wind,  sweet  wind,  flutter  far  away  ! 

I  would  rather  see  the  gale  that  sweeps  across  the  bay ; 

Rather  greet  snow  and  sleet,  and  sullen  winter  rain, 

Than  all  the  bloom  and  perfume  that  follow  in  your  train ; 

For  when  the  winds  of  winter  blow  over  land  and  sea, 

Adelaide  the  little  maid,  she  will  marry  me  : 

Merrily  the  marriage-bells  will  sound  across  the  bay  — 

Cool  wind,  sweet  wind,  flutter  far  away  ! 

MARY  E.  BRADLEY. 

A    WET    SHEET    AND    A    FLOWING    SEA. 

A  WET  sheet  and  a  flowing  sea, 
A  wind  that  follows  fast, 
And  fills  the  white  and  rustling  sail, 

And  bends  the  gallant  mast ; 
And  bends  the  gallant  mast,  my  boys, 

While,  like  the  eagle  free, 
Away  the  good  ship  flies,  and  leaves 
Old  England  on  our  lee. 

"  Oh  for  a  soft  and  gentle  wind  !  " 

I  heard  a  fair  one  cry ; 
But  give  to  me  the  snoring  breeze, 

And  white  waves  heaving  high  ; 
And  white  waves  heaving  high,  my  boys, 

The  good  ship  tight  and  free  : 
The  world  of  waters  is  our  home, 

And  merry  men  are  we. 

There's  tempest  in  yon  horned  moon, 

And  lightning  in  yon  cloud; 
And  hark,  the  music,  mariners  ! 

The  wind  is  piping  loud ; 


THE  FISHER'S    WEDDING.  261 

The  wind  is  piping  loud,  my  boys, 

The  lightning  flashes  free, 
The  hollow  oak  our  palace  is, 

Our  heritage  the  sea. 

ALLAN  CUNNINGHAM. 
THE    FISHER'S    WEDDING. 

!  heard  ye  not  the  wild,  wild  cry 
Of  the  sea-gull  flying  o'er? 
And  saw  ye  not  the  eagle's  eye 

Bent  seaward  from  the  shore  ? 
Oh  !  launch  not  thou  the  fishing-boat 

Upon  the  white-capped  sea, 
But  in  the  harbor  safely  float, 
And  whisper  love  to  me. 

"  Oh  !  leave  the  nets  adown  the  bay ; 

Cast  not  the  boat  adrift ; 
The  sea-birds  round  the  mast  may  play, 

Nor  thou  the  anchor  lift." 
"  Nay,  Mary,  let  the  waves  run  high, 

And  let  the  breakers  roar  ; 
But  I  the  fisher's  craft  must  ply, 

Nor  lag  upon  the  shore." 

Like  egg-shell  tossed  the  little  bark, 

Like  seaman  brave  toiled  he  : 
Down  came  the  tempest  fierce  and  dark, 

Ingulfing  land  and  sea. 
"  O  sailor  dear  !  "  sweet  Mary  cried, 

"  In  life,  in  death,  I'm  thine  ; 
In  life  or  death  thy  own  true  bride, 

I  pledge  this  hand  of  mine. 


262  MOUNTAIN  AND  SEA. 

"  I  will  not  sleep  in  bridal  bed, 

No  kiss  my  lips  shall  know, 
Till  my  true  lover  me  shall  wed 

In  earth  or  sea  below." 
The  reef  roared  loud ;  the  storm  is  past ; 

The  drift  weed  heaped  the  sand ; 
The  waning  moon  a  pale  light  cast 

Upon  the  wreck-strewn  strand. 

There  came  a  boat  to  Mary's  feet : 

A  net  hung  round  the  keel, 
The  mildew  clung  to  riven  sheet, 

And  rust  was  on  the  steel. 
"  My  faithful  Mary,  winsome  bride, 

Thus  thou  shalt  wed  with  me  ;  " 
And  'neath  the  cold  moon,  side  by  side, 

They  drifted  out  to  sea. 

And  ever  since,  whene'er  is  heard 

The  breaker's  muffled  roar, 
A  light  skiff  like  a  flying  bird 

Puts  out  from  off  the  shore  ; 
And  ever  since,  beneath  the  sail, 

Two  lovers  hand  in  hand, 
With  unreefed  canvas  bide  the  gale, 

And  never  come  to  land. 

ELIZABETH  OAKES  SMITH. 

MOUNTAIN    AND    SEA. 

WHEN  gazing  on  a  summer  sea 
Beneath  a  purple  sky, 
It  oft  hath  seemed  a  mountain  ridge 
Far  rising  blue  and  high. 


FROM  "  LALLA   ROOKIL"  263 

Now,  gazing  inland  and  afar, 

The  thought  still  comes  to  me, 
How  much  yon  distant  mountain  line 

Is  like  the  dim  blue  sea. 

When  thou  art  seated  by  my  side 

Loved  memories  ever  rise  ; 
When  thou  art  gone,  up  swells  the  tide 

Of  those  sweet  sea-blue  eyes. 

CHARLES  GODFREY  LELAND. 


FROM    "LALLA    ROOKH." 
(THE  FIRE-WORSHIPPERS.) 

T^AREWELL,  farewell,  to  thee,  ARABY'S  daughter  ! 
\_     (Thus  warbled  a  PERI  beneath  the  dark  sea,) 
No  pearl  ever  lay  under  OMAN'S  green  water 
More  pure  in  its  shell  than  thy  spirit  in  thee. 

Oh  !  fair  as  the  sea-flower  close  to  thee  growing, 
How  light  was  thy  heart  till  love's  witchery  came, 

Like  the  wind  of  the  south  o'er  a  summer  lute  blowing, 
And  hushed  all  its  music,  and  withered  its  frame  ! 

But  long  upon  ARABY'S  green,  sunny  highlands 
Shall  maids  and  their  lovers  remember  the  doom 

Of  her  who  lies  sleeping  among  the  Pearl  Islands, 
With  nought  but  the  sea-star  to  light  up  her  tomb. 

And  still,  when  the  merry  date-season  is  burning, 
And  calls  to  the  palm-groves  the  young  and  the  old, 

The  happiest  there,  from  their  pastime  returning 
At  sunset,  will  weep  when  thy  story  is  told. 


264  SONG. 

The  young  village-maid,  when  with  flowers  she  dresses 
Her  dark  flowing  hair  for  some  festival  day, 

Will  think  of  thy  fate,  till,  neglecting  her  tresses, 
She  mournfully  turns  from  the  mirror  away. 


Farewell !  be  it  ours  to  embellish  thy  pillow 

With  every  thing  beauteous  that  grows  in  the  deep  : 

Each  flower  of  the  rock  and  each  gem  of  the  billow 
Shall  sweeten  thy  bed,  and  illumine  thy  sleep. 

Around  thee  shall  glisten  the  loveliest  amber 
That  ever  the  sorrowing  sea-bird  has  wept ; 

With  many  a  shell  in  whose  hollow-wreathed  chamber 
We  Peris  of  ocean  by  moonlight  have  slept. 

We'll  dive  where  the  gardens  of  coral  lie  darkling, 
And  plant  all  the  rosiest  stems  at  thy  head ; 

We'll  seek  where  the  sands  of  the  Caspian  are  sparkling, 
And  gather  their  gold  to  strew  over  thy  bed. 

Farewell,  farewell  !  until  pity's  sweet  fountain 
Is  lost  in  the  hearts  of  the  fair  and  the  brave, 

They'll  weep  for  the  chieftain  who  died  on  that  mountain, 
They'll  weep  for  the  maiden  who  sleeps  in  this  wave. 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


SONG. 

MY  oars  keep  time  to  half  a  rhyme 
That  slips  and  slides  away  from  me ; 
Across  my  mind,  like  idle  wind, 
A  lost  thought  beateth  lazily. 


THE  NIGHT-BIRD.  265 

Adream,  afloat,  my  little  boat 

And  I  alone  steal  out  to  sea : 
One  vanished  year,  O  Lost  and  Dear ! 

You  rowed  the  little  boat  for  me. 


Ah  !  who  can  sing  of  any  thing 
With  none  to  listen  lovingly  ? 

Or  who  can  time  the  oars  to  rhyme 
When  left  to  row  alone  to  sea  ? 

ANONYMOUS. 


FROM    "LOVE'S    WORLD." 

THE  sea's  my  mind,  which  calm  would  be, 
Were  it  from  winds,  my  passions,  free ; 
But,  out  alas  !  no  sea,  I  find, 
Is  troubled  like  a  lover's  mind. 
Within  it  rocks  and  shallows  be, 
Despair  and  fond  credulity. 

SIR  JOHN  SUCKLING. 


THE    NIGHT-BIRD. 

A -FLOATING,  a-floating, 
Across  the  sleeping  sea, 
All  night  I  heard  a  singing-bird 
Upon  the  topmast-tree. 

"  Oh  !  came  you  off  the  isles  of  Greece  ? 

Or  off  the  banks  of  Seine  ? 
Or  off  some  tree  in  forests  free 

Which  fringe  the  western  main  ?  " 


266  BLACK-EYED  SUSAN. 

"  I  came  not  off  the  Old  World, 

Nor  yet  from  off  the  New ; 
But  I  am  one  of  the  birds  of  God 

Which  sing  the  whole  night  through." 

"  Oh,  sing,  and  wake  the  dawning  ! 

Oh,  whistle  for  the  wind  ! 
The  night  is  long,  the  current  strong : 

My  boat  it  lags  behind." 

"  The  current  sweeps  the  Old  World ; 

The  current  sweeps  the  New : 
The  wind  will  blow,  the  dawn  will  glow, 

Ere  thou  hast  sailed  them  through." 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 


SWEET   WILLIAM'S    FAREWELL    TO    BLACK-EYED 
SUSAN. 

\   LL  in  the  Downs  the  fleet  was  moored, 
_JT\.  The  streamers  waving  in  the  wind, 
When  black-eyed  Susan  came  aboard  : 

"  Oh  !  where  shall  I  my  true  love  find  ? 
Tell  me,  ye  jovial  sailors,  tell  me  true, 
If  my  sweet  William  sails  among  the  crew." 

William,  who  high  upon  the  yard 

Rocked  with  the  billow  to  and  fro, 
Soon  as  her  well-known  voice  he  heard, 

He  sighed,  and  cast  his  eyes  below. 
The  cord  slides  swiftly  through  his  glowing  hands, 
And  quick  as  lightning  on  the  deck  he  stands. 


BLACK-EYED  SUSAN.  267 

So  the  sweet  lark,  high  poised  in  air, 

Shuts  close  his  pinions  to  his  breast 
If  chance  his  mate's  shrill  call  he  hear, 

And  drops  at  once  into  her  nest. 
The  noblest  captain  in  the  British  fleet 
Might  envy  William's  lip  those  kisses  sweet. 

"  O  Susan,  Susan,  lovely  dear  ! 

My  vows  shall  ever  true  remain ; 
Let  me  kiss  oft"  that  falling  tear : 

We  only  part  to  meet  again. 
Change  as  ye  list,  ye  winds,  my  heart  shall  be 
The  faithful  compass  that  still  points  to  thee. 

"  Believe  not  what  the  landmen  say 

Who  tempt  with  doubts  thy  constant  mind  : 

They'll  tell  thee,  sailors,  when  away, 
In  every  port  a  mistress  find. 

Yes,  yes,  believe  them  when  they  tell  thee  so ; 

For  thou  art  present  wheresoe'er  I  go. 

"  If  to  far  India's  coast  we  sail, 

Thy  eyes  are  seen  in  diamonds  bright, 

Thy  breath  is  Afric's  spicy  gale, 
Thy  skin  is  ivory  so  white  : 

Thus  every  beauteous  object  that  I  view 

Wakes  in  my  soul  some  charm  of  lovely  Sue. 

"  Though  battle  call  me  from  thy  arms, 

Let  not  my  pretty  Susan  mourn  : 
Though  cannons  roar,  yet,  safe  from  harms, 

William  shall  to  his  dear  return. 
Love  turns  aside  the  balls  that  round  me  fly, 
Lest  precious  tears  should  drop  from  Susan's  eye." 


268  SUMMER  LONGINGS. 

The  boatswain  gave  the  dreadful  word, 
The  sails  their  swelling  bosom  spread : 

No  longer  must  she  stay  aboard. 

They  kissed,  she  sighed,  he  hung  his  head. 

Her  lessening  boat  unwilling  rows  to  land  : 

"  Adieu  ! "  she  cries,  and  waved  her  lily  hand. 

JOHN  GAY. 


SUMMER    LONGINGS. 

DOWN  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea, 
A  cool  sandy  beach  lies  waiting  for  me. 
The  waves  they  may  plash, 
The  surf  it  may  dash  ; 

Be  it  sunshine  or  storm,  for  my  coming  they  wait : 
Star-fish  and  mussel,  and  sweet-smiling  skate  — 
All  things  of  the  sea 
Are  waiting  for  me. 

Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea, 
A  breezy  piazza,  is  waiting  for  me  : 

Or  iced  lemonade, 

Croquet  in  the  shade, 

Or  music  at  nightfall,  with  lamps  on  the  lawn, 
Or  the  surf  rolling  madly  from  midnight  till  dawn 

All  joys  of  the  sea 

Are  waiting  for  me. 

Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea, 
A  beautiful  maiden  is  waiting  for  me  : 

I  know  not  her  name, 

Nor  wherefore  she  came  ; 


THE  SEA.  269 

But  I  know  by  the  moon  overhead  that  it  shines 
On  the  shore  where  a  lady  fair  wanders  and  pines, 

(The  maiden,  you  see,0 

Who's  waiting  for  me.) 

Down  by  the  sea,  down  by  the  sea, 

The  morrow  shall  find  me  if  morrow  there  be. 

I'll  stay  there  a  while, 

And  live  in  her  smile  ; 
Enjoy  the  piazza.,  the  surf,  and  the  plash ; 
Be  happy,  so  happy  !  —  then,  quite  out  of  cash, 

Come  back  from  the  shore 

To  the  dusty  old  store, 

And  see  her  no  more. 
Heigho  ! 

ANONYMOUS. 


THE    SEA. 
(THE  LOVER.) 

YOU  stooped,  and  picked  a  red-lipped  shell 
Beside  the  shining  sea  : 
"  This  little  shell,  when  I  am  gone, 

Will  whisper  still  of  me." 
I  kissed  your  hands  upon  the  sands, 
For  you  were  kind  to  me. 

I  hold  the  shell  against  my  ear, 

And  hear  its  hollow  roar  : 
It  speaks  to  me  about  the  sea, 

But  speaks  of  you  no  more. 
I  pace  the  sands,  and  wring  my  hands, 

For  you  are  kind  no  more. 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 


270  THE   CHAMBERED  NAUTILUS. 

THE    CHAMBERED    NAUTILUS. 

THIS  is  the  shij^of  pearl,  which,  poets  feign, 
Sails  the  unshadowed  main,  — 
The  venturous  bark  that  flings 
On  the  sweet  summer  wind  its  purpled  wings 
In  gulfs  enchanted,  where  the  Siren  sings, 

And  coral-reefs  lie  bare, 
Where  the  cold  sea-maids  rise  to  sun  their  streaming  hair. 

Its  webs  of  living  gauze  no  more  unfurl : 

Wrecked  is  the  ship  of  pearl ! 

And  every  chambered  cell, 
Where  its  dim  dreaming  life  was  wont  to  dwell, 
As  the  frail  tenant  shaped  his  growing  shell, 

Before  thee  lies  revealed, 
Its  irised  ceiling  rent,  its  sunless  crypt  unsealed. 

Year  after  year  beheld  the  silent  toil 
That  spread  his  lustrous  coil. 
Still,  as  the  spiral  grew, 
He  left  the  past  year's  dwelling  for  the  new, 
Stole  with  soft  step  its  shining  archway  through, 

Built  up  its  idle  door, 

Stretched  in  his  last-found  home,  and  knew  the  old  no 
more. 

Thanks  for  the  heavenly  message  brought  by  thee, 

Child  of  the  wandering  sea, 

Cast  from  her  lap  forlorn  ! 
From  thy  dead  lips  a  clearer  note  is  born 
Than  ever  Triton  blew  from  wreathed  horn. 


THE  LONG    WHITE  SEAM.  271 

While  on  mine  ear  it  rings, 

Through  the  deep  caves  of  thought  I  hear  a  voice  that 
sings  :  — 

"  Build  thee  more  stately  mansions,  O  my  soul ! 

As  the  swift  seasons  roll ; 

Leave  thy  low-vaulted  past ! 
Let  each  new  temple,  nobler  than  the  last, 
Shut  thee  from  heaven  with  a  dome  more  vast, 

Till  thou  at  length  art  free, 
Leaving  thine  outgrown  shell  by  life's  unresting  sea  !  " 

OLIVER  WENDELL  HOLMES. 


THE    LONG    WHITE    SEAM. 

AS  I  came  round  the  harbor-buoy, 
The  lights  began  to  gleam ; 
No  wave  the  land-locked  harbor  stirred ; 

The  crags  were  white  as  cream ; 
And  I  marked  my  love  by  candle-light 
Sewing  her  long  white  seam. 

It's  aye  sewing  ashore,  my  dear, 

Watch  and  steer  at  sea ; 
It's  reef  and  furl  and  haul  the  line, 
Set  sail,  and  think  of  thee. 

I  climbed  to  reach  her  cottage -door : 

Oh,  sweetly  my  love  sings ; 
Like  a  shaft  of  light  her  voice  breaks  forth ; 

My  soul  to  meet  it  springs, 
As  the  shining  water  leaped  of  old 

When  stirred  by  angel  wings. 


272  THE    WAVES. 

Aye  longing  to  list  anew, 
Awake  and  in  my  dream  ; 

But  never  a  song  she  sang  like  this, 
Sewing  her  long  white  seam. 

Fair  fall  the  lights,  the  harbor-lights, 

That  brought  me  in  to  thee ; 
And  peace  drop  down  on  that  low  roof 

For  the  sight  that  I  did  see, 
And  the  voice,  my  dear,  that  rang  so  clear,  — 
All  for  the  love  of  me. 

For  oh,  for  oh  !  with  brows  bent  low, 

By  the  candle's  flickering  gleam, 
Her  wedding-gown  it  was  she  wrought, 
Sewing  the  long  white  seam. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


THE    WAVES. 

CHILDREN  are  we 
Of  the  restless  sea : 
Swelling  in  anger,  or  sparkling  in  glee, 
We  follow  our  race, 
In  shifting  chase, 
Over  the  boundless  ocean-space. 
Who  hath  beheld  where  the  race  begun? 
Who  shall  behold  it  run? 
Who  shall  behold  it  run? 


When  the  smooth  airs  keep 
Their  noontide  sleep, 
We  dimple  the  cheek  of  the  dreaming  deep 


O  _ 

§ 3 

A  B: 

1  I 

n  crq 


THE    WAVES.  273 

When  the  rough  winds  come 

From  their  cloudy  home 
At  the  tap  of  the  hurricane's  thunder-drum, 
Deep  are  the  furrows  of  wrath  we  plough, 

Ridging  his  darkened  brow, 

Ridging  his  darkened  brow. 

Over  us  born, 

The  unclouded  Morn 
Trumpets  her  joy  with  the  Triton's  horn, 

And  sun  and  star 

By  the  thousand  are 
Orbed  in  our  glittering  near  and  far ; 
And  the  splendor  of  heaven,  the  pomp  of  day, 

Shine  in  our  laughing  spray, 

Shine  in  our  laughing  spray. 

We  murmur  our  spell 

Over  sand  and  shell ; 
We  girdle  the  reef  with  a  combing  swell ; 

And,  bound  in  the  vise 

Of  the  arctic  ice, 

We  build  us  a  palace  of  grand  device,  — 
Walls  of  crystal,  and  splintered  spires, 

Flashing  with  diamond  fires, 

Flashing  with  diamond  fires. 

In  the  endless  round 

Of  our  motion  and  sound 
The  fairest  dwelling  of  beauty  is  found ; 

And,  with  voice  of  strange 

And  solemn  change, 
The  elements  speak  in  our  world-wide  range, 


274  THE  SEA. 

Harping  the  terror,  the  might,  the  mirth, 
Sorrows  and  hopes  of  earth, 
Sorrows  and  hopes  of  earth. 

BAYARD  TAYLOR. 


THE    SEA. 

r  I  AHE  sea  is  a  jovial  comrade  : 

JL     He  laughs  wherever  he  goes  ; 
And  the  merriment  shines  in  the  dimpling  lines 

That  wrinkle  his  hale  repose. 
He  lays  himself  down  at  the  feet  of  the  sun, 

And  shakes  all  over  with  glee ; 
And  the  broad-backed  billows  fall  faint  on  the  shore 

In  the  mirth  of  the  mighty  sea. 

But  the  wind  is  sad  and  restless, 

And  cursed  with  an  inward  pain : 
You  may  hark  as  you  will,  by  valley  or  hill, 

But  you  hear  him  still  complain. 
'He  sobs  in  the  barren  mountains, 

And  wails  on  the  wintry  sea ; 
He  shrieks  in  the  cedar,  and  moans  in  the  pine, 

And  shudders  all  over  the  aspen-tree. 

Welcome  are  both  their  voices  ! 

And  I  know  not  which  is  best,  — 
The  laughter  that  slips  from  ocean's  lips, 

Or  the  comfortless  wind's  unrest. 
There's  a  pang  in  all  rejoicing, 

A  joy  in  the  heart  of  pain  ; 
And  the  wind  that  saddens,  the  sea  that  gladdens, 

Are  singing  the  selfsame  strain. 

"  BARKY  CORNWALL." 


THE  STANDING   TOAST.  275 


THE    STANDING    TOAST.1 


THE  moon  on  the  ocean  was  dimmed  by  a  ripple, 
Affording  a  checkered  delight ; 
The  gay,  jolly  tars  passed  the  word  for  the  tipple 

And  the  toast,  for  'twas  Saturday  night ; 
Some  sweetheart  or  wife  that  he  loved  as  his  life 

Each  drank,  while  he  wished  he  could  hail  her : 
But  the  standing  toast  that  pleased  the  most 

Was,  The  wind  that  blows,  the  ship  that  goes, 
And  the  lass  that  loves  a  sailor  ! 

n. 

Some  drank  the  king  and  his  brave  ships ; 

And  some,  the  constitution ; 
Some,  May  our  foes,  and  all  such  rips, 

Own  English  resolution  ! 
That  fate  might  bless  some  Poll  or  Bess, 

And  that  they  soon  might  hail  her : 
But  the  standing  toast,  etc. 

in. 

Some  drank  our  queen  ;  and  some,  our  land,  — 

Our  glorious  land  of  freedom  ; 
Some,  that  our  tars  may  never  stand 

For  heroes  brave  to  lead  'em  ; 
That  beauty  in  distress  might  find 

Such  friends  as  ne'er  would  fail  her : 
But  the  standing  toast,  etc. 

CHARLES  DIBDIN. 
1  The  last  song  .written  by  Mr.  Dibdin. 


276  THE  MERMAIDEN. 


THE    MERMAIDEN. 

HE  was  a  prince  with  golden  hair, 
(In  a  palace  beside  the  sea,) 
And  I  but  a  poor  mermaiden ; 
And  how  should  he  care  for  me  ? 

Last  summer  I  came,  in  the  long  blue  nights, 

To  sit  in  the  cool  sea- caves  : 
Last  summer  he  came  to  count  the  stars 

From  his  terrace  above  the  waves. 


There's  nothing  so  fair  in  the  sea  down  there 

As  the  light  on  his  golden  tresses : 
There's  nothing  so  sweet  as  his  voice,  ah  !  nothing 

So  warm  as  the  warmth  of  his  kisses. 

I  could  not  help  but  love  him,  love  him, 

Till  my  love  grew  pain  to  me ; 
And  to-morrow  he  weds  the  princess 

In  that  palace  beside  the  sea. 

"  OWEN  MKKKIMTH." 


FOUR    SONGS    TO    THE    SEA. 

I  SANG  a  song  in  my  childish  glee 
To  the  shining  sea,  beautiful  sea. 
Barefoot  running  in  the  sand, 
Tossing  pebbles  on  the  strand, 
This  is  the  song  I  sang  to  the  sea ; 
This  is  the  answer  that  came  to  me. 


FOUR  SONGS   TO    THE  SEA.  277 

"  Send  rippling  waves  to  kiss  my  feet, 
And  I  will  give  a  kiss  to  thee  : 
I  know  that  you  will  gladly  greet 
A  happy  little  child  like  me." 

"  I'll  send  the  softest  waves  with  joy, 
And  music  sweet  by  breezes  fanned; 
For  the  rough  sea  of  life,  my  boy, 
Hath  depths  you  cannot  understand." 

I  sang  in  youth  a  song  to  the  sea, 
To  the  restless  sea,  the  changing  sea. 

Listening  to  the  dashing  waves, 

Echoing  from  ocean-caves, 
This  is  the  reckless  song  that  I  sang ; 
This  is  the  answer  that  ever  rang. 

"  Thy  angry  waves  bare  rocks  may  beat, 
The  cold  shore  lash,  till  time  shall  end, 
Wreck  on  thy  reefs  an  hundred  fleet, 
If  fortune's  ship  to  me  you'll  send." 

"  I'll  send  the  ship  you  ask  of  me, 
With  treasures  from  an  unseen  land. 
The  sea  of  life  disturbeth  thee : 
Its  depths  youth  cannot  understand." 

Again  I  sang  a  song  to  the  sea, 
To  the  raging  sea,  the  terrible  sea. 
Listening  to  the  thundering  tide, 
•  Wrecks  and  death  on  every  side, 
I  madly  sang  a  song  to  the  sea : 
This  quieting  answer  came  to  me. 


278  SONG. 

"  Where  is  my  ship,  O  treacherous  main? 
My  brain  is  wild  in  life's  mad  race  : 
I  call  to  thee,  false  sea,  again ; 
I  turn  in  anger  from  thy  face." 

"  Thy  ship  will  come  as  I  have  told ; 
Impatience  only  sorrow  brings  : 
Pray  listen  to  the  story  old, 
Celestial  treasures  have  not  wings." 

An  aged  man  I  sang  to  the  sea, 
The  peaceful  sea,  the  wonderful  sea. 

Standing  on  the  shore  alone, 

Listening  to  the  undertone, 
My  farewell  song  I  sang  to  the  sea : 
This  comforting  answer  came  to  me. 

"  The  ship  you  promised  long  ago 
I  dimly  see  now  coming  in  ; 
Fair  winds  at  length  propitious  blow  : 
I  wonder  where  my  ship  has  been." 

"  The  pearls  of  wisdom,  virtues  rare, 
Love  and  trust  that  God  has  given, 
Your  worn,  long-coming  life-ship  bear : 
These  are  your  passport  into  heaven." 

HENRY  C.  HAYDEN. 

SONG. 

(FROM  "THE  TEMPEST.") 

FULL  fathom  five  thy  father  lies  ; 
Of  his  bones  are  coral  made ; 
Those  are  pearls  that  were  his  eyes : 
Nothing  of  him  that  doth  fade, 


THE  STORM.  279 

But  doth  suffer  a  sea-change 
Into  something  rich  and  strange. 
Sea-nymphs  hourly  ring  his  knell  : 

Ding-dong. 
Hark  !  now  I  hear  them  —  ding-dong  bell. 

WILLIAM   SHAKSPEARE. 


THE    STORM. 

HE  tempest  rages  wild  and  high  ; 
1  The  waves  lift  up  their  voice,  and  cry 
Fierce  answers  to  the  angry  sky  — 

Miserere  Dotnine. 

Through  the  black  night  and  driving  rain 
A  ship  is  struggling,  all  in  vain, 
To  live  upon  the  stormy  main  — 

Miserere  Domine. 

The  thunders  roar,  the  lightnings  glare ; 
Vain  is  it  now  to  strive  or  dare  : 
A  cry  goes  up  of  great  despair  — 

Miserere  Dotnine. 

The  stormy  voices  of  the  main, 
The  moaning  winds  and  pelting  rain, 
Beat  on  the  nursery  window-pane  — 

Miserere  Domine. 

Warm-curtained  was  the  little  bed, 
Soft-pillowed  was  the  little  head  : 
"The  storm  will  wake  the  child,"  they  said  — 
Miserere  Domine. 


280  OVER    THE  SEA. 

Cowering  among  his  pillows  white, 

He  prays,  his  blue  eyes  dim  with  fright, 

"  Father,  save  those  at  sea  to-night !  "  — 

Miserere  Do  mine. 

The  morning  shone,  all  clear  and  gay, 
On  a  ship  at  anchor  in  the  bay, 
And  on  a  little  child  at  play  — 

Gloria  tibi  Domine. 

ADELAIDE  ANNE  PROCTER. 


OVER    THE    SEA. 

OVER  the  sea,  over  the  sea ; 
Oh,  but  my  heart  is  over  the  sea  ! 
Northern  wind,  northern  wind,  oh,  might  I  be 
Borne  on  thy  shrilling  blast 
Over  the  sea  ! 

Over  the  sea,  over  the  sea ; 

Oh,  but  her  heart  is  over  the  sea  ! 
Northward  the  white  sails  go,  northward  to  me. 

Oh,  but  she  longs  to  fly 
Over  the  sea ! 

WILLIAM  C.  BENNETT. 


THE    SEA. 

OSEA  !  in  evening's  glow, 
Upon  thy  tranquil  breast, 
After  long  storm  and  woe, 
I  breathe  a  heavenly  rest. 


THE  SAILORS   WIFE.  281 

Thy  troubled  heart  forgets 

The  weary  war  of  yore  : 
Its  moans  and  drear  regrets 

Are  melody  once  more. 

Barely  one  voiceless  thought 

May  through  the  spirit  float, 
As  on  the  silent  sea 

A  solitary  boat. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN. 

TRANSLATED  BY  M.  C.  PIKE. 


THE    SAILOR'S    WIFE. 

PART    I. 

T'VE  a  letter  from  thy  sire, 
JL         Baby  mine,  baby  mine  ! 
I  can  read  and  never  tire, 

Baby  mine  ! 

He  is  sailing  o'er  the  sea, 
He  is  coming  back  to  thee, 
He  is  coming  home  to  me, 

Baby  mine  ! 

He's  been  parted  from  us  long, 
Baby  mine,  baby  mine  ! 

But  if  hearts  be  true  and  strong, 
Baby  mine  ! 

They  shall  brave  misfortune's  blast, 

And  be  overpaid  at  last 

For  all  pain  and  sorrow  passed, 
Baby  mine  ! 


282  THE  SAILOR'S    WIFE. 

Oh,  I  long  to  see  his  face, 

Baby  mine,  baby  mine  ! 
In  his  old  accustomed  place, 

Baby  mine  ! 

Like  the  rose  of  May  in  bloom, 
Like  a  star  amid  the  gloom, 
Like  the  sunshine  in  the  room, 
Baby  mine  ! 

Thou  wilt  see  him  and  rejoice, 
Baby  mine,  baby  mine  ! 
Thou  wilt  know  him  by  his  voice, 

Baby  mine  ! 

By  his  love-looks  that  endear, 
By  his  laughter  ringing  clear, 
By  his  eyes  that  know  not  fear, 
Baby  mine  ! 

I'm  so  glad,  I  cannot  sleep, 

Baby  mine,  baby  mine  ! 
I'm  so  happy,  I  could  weep, 

Baby  mine  ! 

He  is  sailing  o'er  the  sea, 
He  is  coming  home  to  me, 
He  is  coming  back  to  thee, 
Baby  mine  ! 

PART  ir. 

O'er  the  blue  ocean  gleaming 

She  sees  a  distant  ship, 
As  small  to  view 
As  the  white  sea-mew 

Whose  wings  the  billows  dip. 


THE  SAILOR'S    WIFE.  283 

"  Blow,  favoring  gales,  in  her  answering  sails, 

Blow  steadily  and  free  ! 

Rejoicing,  strong, 

Sing  a  song 

Her  rigging  and  her  spars  among, 
And  waft  the  vessel  in  pride  along, 
That  bears  my  love  to  me." 

Nearer  !  still  nearer  driving, 
The  white  sails  grow  and  swell ; 

Clear  to  her  eyes 

The  pennant  flies, 
And  the  flag  she  knows  so  well. 
"  Blow,  favoring  gales,  in  her  answering  sails  ! 

Waft  him,  O  gentle  sea  ! 

And  still,  O  heart ! 

Thy  fluttering  start : 

Why  throb  and  beat  as  thou  wouldst  part, 
When  all  so  happy  and  blessed  thou  art  ? 

He  comes  again  to  thee  !  " 

The  swift  ship  drops  her  anchor; 
A  boat  puts  off  for  shore  ; 

Against  its  prow 

The  ripples  flow 

To  the  music  of  the  oar. 
"  And  art  thou  here,  my  own,  my  dear, 
Safe  from  the  perilous  sea? 

Safe,  safe  at  home, 

No  more  to  roam  ! 

Blow  tempests  blow,  my  love  has  come, 
And  sprinkle  the  clouds  with  your  dashing  foam : 
He  shall  part  no  more  from  me." 

CHARLES  MACKAY. 


284  THE  BO  ATI E  ROWS. 

THE    BOATIE    ROWS. 

OH  !  weel  may  the  boatie  row, 
And  better  may  she  speed, 
And  lissome  may  the  boatie  row, 
That  wins  the  bairnies'  bread. 
The  boatie  rows,  the  boatie  rows, 

The  boatie  rows  indeed  ; 
And  weel  may  the  boatie  row 
That  wins  the  bairnies'  bread  ! 

I  coost  my  line  in  Largo  Bay, 

And  fishes  I  catched  nine  : 
'Twas  three  to  boil,  and  three  to  fry, 

And  three  to  bait  the  line. 
The  boatie  rows,  the  boatie  rows, 

The  boatie  rows  indeed  ; 
And  happy  be  the  lot  o'  a' 

Wha  wishes  her  to  speed  ! 

Oh  !  weel  may  the  boatie  row 

That  fills  a  heavy  creel, 
And  deeds  us  a'  frae  tap  to  tae, 

And  buys  our  parritch-meal. 
The  boatie  rows,  the  boatie  rows, 

The  boatie  rows  indeed ; 
And  happy  be  the  lot  o'  a' 

That  wish  the  boatie  speed  ! 

When  Jamie  vowed  he  wad  be  mine, 
And  wan  frae  me  my  heart, 

Oh  !  muckle  lighter  grew  my  creel : 
He  swore  we'd  never  part. 


A   SEA-SONG.  285 

The  boatie  rows,  the  boatie  rows, 

The  boatie  rows  fu'  weel ; 
And  muckle  lighter  is  the  load 

When  love  bears  up  the  creel. 

My  kurtch  I  put  upo'  my  head, 

And  dressed  myseF  fu'  braw : 
I  trow  my  heart  was  dough  and  wae 

When  Jamie  gade  awa'. 
But  weel  may  the  boatie  row, 

And  lucky  be  her  part ; 
And  lightsome  be  the  lassie's  care 

That  yields  an  honest  heart ! 

UNKNOWN. 


A    SEA-SONG. 

,  make  for  me  a  little  song," 
'Twas  so  a  spirit  said  to  me, 
"And  make  it  just  four  verses  long, 
And  make  it  sweet  as  it  can  be, 
And  make  it  all  about  the  sea. 

"  Sing  me  about  the  wild,  waste  shore, 
Where,  long  and  long  ago,  with  me 

You  watched  the  silver  sails  that  bore 
The  great,  strong  ships  across  the  sea,  — 
The  blue,  the  bright,  the  boundless  sea. 

"  Sing  me  about  the  plans  we  planned,  — 
How  one  of  those  good  ships  should  be 

My  way  to  find  some  flowery  land 
Away  beyond  the  misty  sea, 
Where  always  you  should  live  with  me. 


286  5  TORM-  WA  VES. 

"  Sing,  lastly,  how  our  hearts  were  caught 
Up  into  heaven,  because  that  we 

Knew  not  the  flowery  land  we  sought 
Lay  all  beyond  that  other  sea,  — 
That  soundless,  sailless,  solemn  sea." 

ALICE  GARY. 


STORM-WAVES. 

WITH    thunderous    voice,   and    grand,   unflinching 
might, 

The  huge  foam-crested  surges  beat  the  shore  : 
Far  inland  sounds  their  deep,  sonorous  roar, 
A  fitting  music  for  the  storm-filled  night. 
Their  phosphor  fires  shine  out  with  lurid  light, 
As  on  the  reef  in  giant  troops  they  pour, 
Making  grand  echoes,  that  majestic  soar 
Through  wind-tossed  glooms,  in  wide  extended  flight. 
A  palpitant  darkness  fills  the  depths  of  space ; 
And  ships  speed  by,  their  wet  and  straining  sails 
Throwing  grim  shadows  where  the  beacon's  flare 
Through  driving  sprays  holds  a  fantastic  chase ; 
And  vague  heard  meanings  of  long-vanished  gales 
With  their  weird  murmurs  freight  the  writhing  air. 

THOMAS  S.  COLLIER. 

THE   VARIOUS    ASPECTS    OF    THE    SEA. 
(FROM  "THE  BOROUGH.") 

TURN  to  the  watery  world  !  but  who  to  thee 
(A  wonder  yet  unviewed)  shall  paint  the  sea? 
Various  and  vast,  sublime  in  all  its  forms, 
When  lulled  by  zephyrs,  or  when  roused  by  storms, 


YE  MARINERS   OF  ENGLAND.  287 

Its  colors  changing,  when  from  clouds  and  sun 

Shades  after  shades  upon  the  surface  run  ; 

Imbrowned  and  horrid  now,  and  now  serene 

In  limpid  blue  and  evanescent  green ; 

And  oft  the  foggy  banks  on  ocean  lie, 

Lift  the  fair  sail,  and  cheat  the  experienced  eye. 

Be  it  the  summer  noon  :  a  sandy  space 
The  ebbing  tide  has  left  upon  its  place ; 
Then  just  the  hot  and  stony  beach  above, 
Like  twinkling  streams  in  bright  confusion  move ; 
(For,  heated  thus,  the  warmer  air  ascends, 
And  with  the  cooler  in  its  fall  contends ;) 
Then  the  broad  bosom  of  the  ocean  keeps 
An  equal  motion,  swelling  as  it  sleeps, 
Then  slowly  sinking ;  curling  to  the  strand, 
Faint,  lazy  waves  o'ercreep  the  ridgy  sand, 
Or  tap  the  tarry  boat  with  gentle  blow, 
And  back  return  in  silence,  smooth  and  slow. 
Ships  in  the  calm  seem  anchored ;  for  they  glide 
On  the  still  sea,  urged  solely  by  the  tide. 
Art  thou  not  present,  this  calm  scene  before, 
Where  all  beside  is  pebbly  length  of  shore, 
And  far  as  eye  can  reach,  it  can  discern  no  more  ? 

GEORGE  CRABBE. 


YE    MARINERS    OF    ENGLAND. 

YE  mariners  of  England, 
That  guard  our  native  seas, 
Whose  flag  has  braved  a  thousand  years 
The  battle  and  the  breeze, 
Your  glorious  standard  launch  again 
To  match  another  foe, 


288  YE  MARINERS  OF  ENGLAND. 

As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep 
While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 
While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 
And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  spirits  of  your  fathers 

Shall  start  from  every  wave  ; 

For  the  deck  it  was  their  field  of  fame, 

And  ocean  was  their  grave  : 

Where  Blake  and  mighty  Nelson  fell, 

Your  manly  hearts  shall  glow, 

As  ye  sweep  through  the  deep 

While  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 

While  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

Britannia  needs  no  bulwarks, 

No  towers  along  the  steep  : 

Her  march  is  o'er  the  mountain  waves, 

Her  home  is  on  the  deep. 

With  thunders  from  her  native  oak 

She  quells  the  floods  below, 

As  they  roar  on  the  shore, 

When  the  stormy  winds  do  blow ; 

When  the  battle  rages  loud  and  long, 

And  the  stormy  winds  do  blow. 

The  meteor  flag  of  England 
Shall  yet  terrific  burn, 
Till  danger's  troubled  night  depart, 
And  the  star  of  peace  return. 
Then,  then,  ye  ocean  warriors, 
Our  song  and  feast  shall  flow 


THE   OLD   COMMODORE.  289 

To  the  fame  of  your  name, 
When  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow ; 
When  the  fiery  fight  is,  heard  no  more, 
And  the  storm  has  ceased  to  blow. 

THOMAS  CAMPBELL. 
AT    SEA. 

THE  sea  is  like  a  mirror  far  and  near, 
And  ours  a  prosperous  voyage,  safe  from  harms ; 
Yet  may  the  thought  that  everlasting  arms 
Are  round  us  and  about  us,  be  as  dear 
Now,  when  no  sight  of  danger  doth  appear, 
As  though  our  vessel  did  its  blind  way  urge 
Mid  the  long  weltering  of  the  dreariest  surge 
Through  which  a  perishing  bark  did  ever  steer. 
Lord  of  the  calm  and  tempest,  be  it  ours, 
Poor  mariners  !  to  pay  due  vows  to  thee, 
Though  not  a  cloud  on  all  the  horizon  lowers 
Of  all  our  life  ;  for  even  this  way  shall  we 
Have  greater  boldness  toward  thee  when  indeed 
The  storm  is  up,  and  there  is  earnest  need. 

ARCHBISHOP  TRENCH. 

THE    OLD    COMMODORE. 

'T^HE  gallant  frigate  that  bore  his  flag 
_L    When  storm  and  battle  were  wild  and  strong, 
At  her  heavy  moorings  doth  stoutly  drag, 

As  tides  go  sweeping  her  sides  along : 
Her  hull  is  battered,  her  spars  a-wreck, 

Her  stranded  cordage  flies  in  the  breeze ; 
The  splintered  planks  of  her  oaken  deck 

Are  fragrant  with  sprays  from  many  seas. 


290  CALM  AND   COLD. 

Her  tall  masts  point  to  the  purple  sky, 

Nor  bow  to  the  rush  of  passing  years  ; 
Through  her  open  ports  the  low  winds  sigh, 

And  mourn  for  the  cannon's  roar,  the  cheers, 
The  clashing  of  blades,  the  thud  of  shot, 

The  tempest  surging  amid  the  shrouds, 
The  glory  of  battles  now  forgot, 

And  the  fading  dark  of  vanished  clouds. 

Ah,  the  Commodore  is  gray  and  old, 

Like  the  ship  whose  fame  is  growing  dim ; 
And  evening's  treasure  of  flame  and  gold, 

And  its  rest  and  quiet,  are  given  him. 
But  his  spirit  still  the  old  time  craves,  — 

The  cyclone's  breath  on  the  southern  sea, 
And  the  roar  of  phosphor-gleaming  waves, 

Where  rocks  gloomed  under  a  brave  ship's  lee. 

Now  three  lines  tell  of  his  famous  fight, 

Once  blazoned  broad  on  many  a  page  ; 
But  his  eye  still  shows  the  victor's  light, 

Though  white  his  hair  with  the  snow  of  age ; 
And  should  the  foe,  with  his  iron  ships, 

Bear  fiercely  down  on  our  native  shore, 
None  would  front  their  cannons'  frowning  lips 

With  braver  cheer  than  the  Commodore. 

THOMAS  S.  COLLIER. 


CALM    AND    COLD. 

BREAK  into  spray,  and  fly,  and  fill  the  air 
With  ghastly  mist  that  freezes  ere  it  falls, 
O  struggling  waves  !  whom  not  the  wind  appalls, 
Nor  all  the  wrestling  tempests  overbear, 


A    TROPICAL  MORNING  AT  SEA.  291 

But  secret  fear,  lest,  pausing  weary  there, 

Instead  of  peace,  renewing  whom  it  calls, 

The  subtle  cold,  that  levels  and  inthralls, 

Should  creep  and  find,  and  bind  you  unaware. 

And  what  were  worse,  than,  smoothly  calm  and  cold, 

Wrapt  in  false  peace,  to  fancy  strife  is  o'er, 

Forget  the  woes  that  all  the  winds  deplore, 

Forget  the  cares  that  all  the  clouds  infold, 

And  watch,  nor  wait  for  changes  as  of  old, 

And  feel  the  movement  of  the  world  no  more  ! 

ROBERT  K.  WEEKS. 

A    TROPICAL    MORNING    AT    SEA. 

SKY  in  its  lucent  splendor  lifted 
Higher  than  cloud  can  be ; 
Air  with  no  breath  of  earth  to  stain  it, 
Pure  on  the  perfect  sea ; 

Crests  that  touch  and  tilt  each  other, 

Jostling  as  they  comb  ; 
Delicate  crash  of  tinkling  water, 

Broken  in  pearling  foam. 

Flashings,  —  or  is  it  the  pine- wood's  whispers, 

Babble  of  brooks  unseen, 
Laughter  of  winds  when  they  find  the  blossoms, 

Brushing  aside  the  green  ?  — 

Waves  that  dip  and  dash  and  sparkle ; 

Foam-wreaths  slipping  by, 
Soft  as  a  snow  of  broken  roses 

Afloat  over  mirrored  sky. 


292  A    TROPICAL  MORNING  AT  SEA. 

Off  to  the  east  the  steady  sun-track 

Golden  meshes  fill,  — 
Webs  of  fire,  that  lace  and  tangle, 

Never  a  moment  still. 

Liquid  palms  but  clap  together ; 

Fountains,  flower-like,  grow  — 
Limpid  bells  on  stems  of  silver  — 

Out  of  a  slope  of  snow ; 

Sea-depths,  blue  as  the  blue  of  violets,  — 

Blue  as  a  summer  sky 
When  you  blink  at  its  arch  sprung  over 

Where  in  the  grass  you  lie. 

Dimly  an  orange  bit  of  rainbow 
Burns  where  the  low  west  clears, 

Broken  in  air,  like  a  passionate  promise 
Born  of  a  moment's  tears. 

Thinned  to  amber,  rimmed  with  silver, 
Clouds  in  the  distance  dwell,  — 

Clouds  that  are  cool,  for  all  their  color, 
Pure  as  a  rose-lipped  shell. 

Fleets  of  wool  in  the  upper  heavens 

Gossamer  wings  unfurl ; 
Sailing  so  high  they  seem  but  sleeping 

Over  yon  bar  of  pearl. 

What  would  the  great  world  lose,  I  wonder 
Would  it  be  missed,  or  no  — 

If  we  staid  in  the  opal  morning, 
Floating  forever  so  ? 


SONG.  293 

Swung  to  sleep  by  the  swaying  water, 

Only  to  dream  all  day  — 
Blow,  salt  wind  from  the  north  up-starting, 

Scatter  such  dreams  away. 

E.  R.  SILL. 
AT    SEA. 

WIDE  sweeps  of  gold,  that  stream  along  the  sea 
To  where  blue  water  meets  the  azure  sky, 

And  break  in  radiant  gems,  that  flashing  lie 
Upon  the  waves ;  a  bird  that  flies  a-lee, 
With  all  the  ocean's  vastness  to  him  free ; 

A  tall  white  sail,  telling  the  searching  eye 

Of  fellow-mortals  who  are  passing  by ; 
And  crested  waves,  whereof  the  sun  is  free ; 
And  in  the  west  a  mass  of  clouds,  that  rise 

Fringed  with  the  amber  light  that  through  their  rifts 

Comes  in  broad  columns ;  while,  like  shadows  dark, 
The  seaweed,  from  some  reef  that  far  off  lies, 
Through  the  cool  silence  of  the  water  drifts 

Fathoms  below  the  swift  keel  of  our  bark. 

THOMAS  S.  COLLIER. 

SONG. 

LIKE  a  fettered  boat  that  pants  and  pulls, 
And  struggles  to  be  free, 
When  the  wind  is  up,  and  the  whirling  gulls 
Are  wild  with  ecstasy, 
Is  my  heart  apart  from  thee. 

Like  a  boat  that  leans,  that  leaps,  that  flies, 

That  sings  along  the  sea, 

With  a  sunny  shower  of  drops  that  rise 


294  FAREWELL. 

And  fall  melodiously, 

Is  my  heart,  sweetheart,  is  my  heart, 

Is  my  heart  approaching  thee. 

ROBERT  K.  WEEKS. 


FAREWELL. 

FAREWELL,  farewell !     Her  vans  the  vessel  tries, 
His  iron  might  the  potent  engine  plies  : 
Haste,  winged  words,  and,  ere  'tis  useless,  tell, 
Farewell,  farewell,  yet,  once  again,  farewell. 

The  docks,  the  streets,  the  houses,  past  us  fly ; 
Without  a  strain  the  great  ship  marches  by : 
Ye  fleeting  banks,  take  up  the  words  we  tell, 
And  say  for  us  yet  once  again,  Farewell. 

The  waters  widen :  on  without  a  strain 

The  strong  ship-  moves  upon  the  open  main  ; 

She  knows  the  seas,  she  hears  the  true  waves  swell, 

She  seems  to  say,  Farewell,  again,  farewell. 

The  billows  whiten,  and  the  deep  seas  heave : 
Fly  once  again,  sweet  words,  to  her  I  leave ; 
With  winds  that  blow  return,  and  seas  that  swell, 
Farewell,  farewell,  say,  once  again,  farewell. 

Fresh  in  my  face,  and  rippling  to  my  feet, 

The  winds  and  waves  an  answer  soft  repeat : 

In  sweet,  sweet  words,  far  brought,  they  seem  to  tell, 

Farewell,  farewell,  yet,  once  again,  farewell. 

Night  gathers  fast.     Adieu,  thou  fading  shore  1 
The  land  we  look  for  next  must  lie  before : 


'A   DEPARTING  SHIP.  295 

Hence,  foolish  tears  !  weak  thoughts,  no  more  rebel  — 
Farewell,  farewell,  a  last,  a  last  farewell. 

Yet  not,  indeed,  ah  !  not  till  more  than  sea, 
And  more  than  space,  divide  my  love  and  me, 
Till  more  than  winds  and  waves  between  us  swell, 
Farewell,  a  last,  indeed  a  last  farewell. 

ARTHUR  HUGH  CLOUGH. 
A    DEPARTING    SHIP. 

A  COOL,  wide  stretch  of  ocean  lies 
Along  the  sunlit,  shining  land  ; 
And  cloudless  depths  of  purple  skies 
Bend  down  on  either  hand. 

Dim  woods  show  dark  on  yonder  height, 
And  gray  rocks  crown  a  rugged  steep ; 

And,  glowing  in  the  golden  light, 
A  ship  sails  o'er  the  deep. 

I  sit  and  wonder  of  her  fate,  — 

To  what  far  country  is  she  bound, 
If  favoring  winds  will  for  her  wait, 

Or  storms  surge  wildly  round. 

I  gaze  upon  the  tropic  sea 

That  parts  before  her  rapid  way ; 
I  hear  the  cyclones  whistle  free 

Among  the  driving  spray. 

Far  off,  where  burns  the  Southern  Cross, 
She  rounds  a  tempest-haunted  cape ; 

Black  waves  against  its  masses  toss ; 
Black  clouds  its  cold  rocks  drape. 


296  MUSIC  IN   THE  AIR. 

Palm-crowned  the  distant  islands  lie ; 

The  murmurous  waves  sing  soft  and  low, 
As,  while  the  fragrant  winds  sweep  by, 

They  slowly  ebb  and  flow. 

The  shores  are  rich  with  radiant  blooms ; 

And  vague  and  deep  the  coral- sprays 
Amid  the  silent  opal-glooms 

Their  snowy  whiteness  raise. 

Here,  like  a  misty  cloud  that  pales 

When  morning's  glory  through  the  night 

Sends  far  its  amber  beams,  her  sails 
Pass  utterly  from  sight. 

The  lonely  water  sinks  and  swells ; 

The  gray  gulls  linger  near  the  shore ; 
Their  low  cries  sound  like  sad  farewells,  — 

Will  she  come  back  no  more  ? 

THOMAS  S.  COLLIER. 


MUSIC    IN    THE    AIR. 

OH,  listen  to  the  howling  sea 
That  beats  on  the  remorseless  shore  ! 
Oh,  listen  !  for  that  sound  shall  be 

When  our  wild  hearts  shall  beat  no  more. 

Oh,  listen  well,  and  listen  long  ! 

For,  sitting  folded  close  to  me, 
You  could  not  hear  a  sweeter  song 

Than  that  hoarse  murmur  of  the  sea. 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN.  297 


THE    FLYING    DUTCHMAN. 

LONG  time    ago,   from   Amsterdam   a   vessel   sailed 
away,  — 

As  fair  a  ship  as  ever  flung  aside  the  laughing  spray. 
Upon  the  shore  were  tearful  eyes,  and  scarfs  were  in  the 

air, 
As  to  her,  o'er  the  Zuyder  Zee,  went  fond  adieu  and 

prayer ; 

And  brave  hearts,  yearning  shoreward  from  the  outward- 
going  ship, 

Felt  lingering  kisses  clinging  still  to  tear-wet  cheek  and  lip. 
She   steered   for   some   far  eastern  clime;   and,  as  she 

skimmed  the  seas, 

Each  taper  mast  was  bending  like  a  rod  before  the  breeze. 
Her  captain  was  a  stalwart  man,  an  iron  heart  had  he ; 
From  childhood's  days  he  sailed  upon  the  rolling  Zuyder 

Zee: 
He  nothing  feared  upon  the  earth,  and  scarcely  Heaven 

feared ; 
He  would  have  dared  and  done  whatever  mortal  man 

had  dared. 

He  looked  aloft,  where  high  in  air  the  pennant  cut  the  blue, 
And  every  rope  and  spar  and  sail  was  firm  and  strong 

and  true. 
He  turned  him  from  the  swelling  sail  to  gaze  upon  the 

shore ; 
Ah  !  little  thought  the  skipper  then,  'twould  meet  his  eye 

no  more  : 
He  dreamt  not  that  an  awful  doom  was  hanging  o'er  his 

ship ; 
That  Vanderdecken's   name  would  yet   make   pale  the 

speaker's  lip. 


298  THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN. 

The  vessel  bounded  on  her  way,  and  spire  and  dome 

went  down : 
Ere  darkness  fell,  beneath  the  wave  had  sunk  the  distant 

town. 
No  more,  no  more,  ye  hapless  crew,  shall  Holland  meet 

your  eye. 
In  lingering  hope  and  keen  suspense,  maid,  wife,  and 

child  shall  die. 

Away,  away,  the  vessel  speeds,  till  sea  and  sky  alone 
Are  round  her,  as  her  course  she  steers  across  the  torrid 

zone,  — 
Away,  until  the  North  Star  fades,  the  Southern  Cross  is 

high, 
And  myriad  gems  of  brightest  beam  are  sparkling  in  the 

sky. 
The  tropic  winds  are  left  behind ;  she  nears  the  Cape  of 

Storms, 

Where  awful  Tempest  ever  sits  enthroned  in  wild  alarms ; 
Where  Ocean  in  his  anger  shakes  aloft  his  foamy  crest, 
Disdainful  of  the  weakly  toys  that  ride  upon  his  breast. 
Fierce  swell  the  winds  and  waters  round  the  Dutchman's 

gallant  ship ; 
But  to  their  rage,  defiance  rings   from  Vanderdecken's 

lip: 
Impotent  they  to  make  him  swerve  ;  their  might  he  dares 

despise, 
As  straight  he  holds  his  onward  course,  and  wind  and 

wave  defies. 
For  days  and  nights  he  struggles  in  the  weird,  unearthly 

fight. 
His  brow  is  bent,  his  eye  is  fierce,  but  looks  of  deep 

affright 


THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN.  299 

Amongst  the  mariners  go  round,  as  hopelessly  they  steer : 

They  do  not  dare  to  murmur,  but  they  whisper  what  they 
fear. 

Their  black-browed  captain  awes  them  :  'neath  his  dark- 
ened eye  they  quail, 

And  in  grim  and  sullen  mood  their  bitter  fate  bewail. 

As  some  fierce  rider  ruthless  spurs  a  timid,  wavering 
horse, 

He  drives  his  shapely  vessel,  and  they  watch  the  reckless 
course, 

Till  once  again  their  skipper's  laugh  is  flung  upon  the 
blast  : 

The  placid  ocean  smiles  beyond,  the  dreaded  Cape  is 
passed. 

Away  across  the  Indian  main  the  vessel  northward  glides ; 
A  thousand  murmuring  ripples  break  along  her  graceful 

sides ; 
The  perfumed  breezes  fill  her  sails ;  her  destined  port  she 

nears ; 
The  captain's  brow  has  lost  its  frown,  the  mariners  their 

fears. 
"  Land  ho  ! "  at  length  the  welcome  sound  the  watchful 

sailor  sings ; 

And  soon  within  an  Indian  bay  the  ship  at  anchor  swings. 
Not  idle,  then,  the  busy  crew :    ere  long,  the  spacious 

hold 
Is  emptied  of  its  western  freight,  and  stored  with  silk  and 

gold. 
Again  the  ponderous  anchor's  weighed ;  the  shore  is  left 

behind ; 
The  snowy  sails  are  bosomed  out  before  the  favoring 

wind. 


300  THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN. 

Across  the  warm,  blue  Indian  Sea  the  vessel  southward 
flies, 

And  once  again  the  North  Star  fades,  and  Austral  bea- 
cons rise. 

For  home  she  steers  :  she  seems  to  know  and  answer  to 
the  word, 

And  swifter  skims  the  burnished  deep,  like  some  fair 
ocean-bird. 

"  For  home  !  for  home  !  "  the  merry  crew  with  gladsome 
voices  cry, 

And  dark-browed  Vanderdecken  has  a  mild  light  in  his 
eye. 

But  once  again  the  Cape  draws  near,  and  furious  billows 
rise, 

And  still  the  daring  Dutchman's  laugh  the  hurricane  defies. 

But  wildly  shrieked  the  tempest  ere  the  scornful  sound 
had  died, 

A  warning  to  the  daring  man  to  curb  his  impious  pride. 

A  crested  mountain  struck  the  ship,  and  like  a  frighted 
bird 

She  trembled  'neath  the  awful  shock.  Then  Vander- 
decken heard 

A  pleading  voice  within  the  gale  —  his  better  angel  spoke, 

But  fled  before  his  scowling  look,  as  mast-high  mountains 
broke 

Around  the  trembling  vessel,  till  the  crew  with  terror  paled ; 

But  Vanderdecken  never  flinched,  nor  'neath  the  thun- 
ders quailed. 

With  folded  arms  and  stern-pressed  lips,  dark  anger  in 
his  eye, 

He  answered  back  the  threatening  frown  that  lowered 
o'er  the  sky. 


THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN.  301 

With  fierce  defiance  in  his  heart,  and  scornful  look  of  flame, 
He  spoke,  and  thus  with  impious  voice  blasphemed  God's 

holy  name  : 
"  Howl  on,  ye  winds  !  ye  tempests,  howl !  your  rage  is 

spent  in  vain : 
Despite  your  strength,  your  frowns,  your  hate,  I'll  ride 

upon  the  main. 

Defiance  to  your  idle  shrieks  !     I'll  sail  upon  my  path. 
I  cringe  not  for  thy  Maker's  smile,  I  care  not  for  his 

wrath  ! " 

He  ceased.    An  awful  silence  fell :  the  tempest  and  the  sea 
Were  hushed   in  sudden  stillness  by  the  Ruler's  dread 

decree. 

The  ship  was  riding  motionless  within  the  gathering  gloom  ; 
The   Dutchman   stood   upon   the  poop,  and  heard  his 

dreadful  doom. 
The  hapless  crew  were  on  the  deck  in  swooning  terror 

prone  : 

They,  too,  were  bound  in  fearful  fate.     In  angered  thun- 
der-tone 
The  judgment  words  swept  o'er  the  sea :  "  Go,  wretch, 

accursed,  condemned  ! 
Go   sail   forever  on    the    deep,   by   shrieking    tempests 

hemmed  ! 
No  home,  no  port,  no  calm,  no  rest,  no  gentle  favoring 

breeze, 
Shall  ever  greet  thee.     Go,  accurst !  and  battle  with  the 

seas; 
Go,  braggart !  struggle  with  the  storm,  nor  ever  cease  to 

live, 
But  bear  a  million  times  the  pangs  that  death  and  fear 

can  give. 


302  THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN. 

Away  !  and  hide  thy  guilty  head,  a  curse  to  all  thy  kind 

Who  ever  see  thee  struggling,  wretch,  with  ocean  and 
with  wind. 

Away,  presumptuous  worm  of  earth !  Go  teach  thy 
fellow-worms 

The  awful  fate  that  waits  on  him  who  braves  the  King  of 
storms  !  " 

'Twas  o'er.  A  lurid  lightning-flash  lit  up  the  sea  and 
sky 

Around  and  o'er  the  fated  ship ;  then  rose  a  wailing  cry 

From  every  heart  within  her,  of  keen  anguish  and  de- 
spair ; 

But  mercy  was  for  them  no  more  —  it  died  away  in  air. 

Once  more  the  lurid  light  gleamed  out  —  the  ship  was 
still  at  rest, 

The  crew  were  standing  at  their  posts  :  with  arms  across 
his  breast 

Still  stood  the  captain  on  the  poop,  but,  bent  and  crouch- 
ing now, 

He  bowed  beneath  that  fiat  dread,  and  o'er  his  swarthy 
brow 

Swept  lines  of  anguish,  as  if  he  a  thousand  years  of  pain 

Had  lived  and  suffered.  Then  across  the  heaving,  angry 
main 

The  tempest  shrieked  triumphant,  and  the  angry  waters 
hissed 

Their  vengeful  hate  against  the  toy  they  oftentimes  had 
kissed. 

And  ever  through  the  midnight  storm  that  hapless  crew 
must  speed : 

They  try  to  round  the  stormy  Cape,  but  never  can  suc- 
ceed. 


THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN.  303 

And  oft  when  gales  are  wildest,  and  the  lightning's  vivid 

sheen 
Flashes  back  the  ocean's  anger,  still  the  Phantom  Ship 

is  seen, 
Ever  sailing  to  the  southward  in   the   fierce   tornado's 

swoop, 
With  her  ghostly  crew  and  canvas,  and  her  captain  on 

the  poop, 

Unrelenting,  unforgiven ;  and  'tis  said  that  every  word 
Of  his  blasphemous  defiance  still  upon  the  gale  is  heard. 
But  Heaven  help  the  ship  near  which  the  dismal  sailor 

steers  ! 
The  doom  of  those  is  sealed  to  whom  that  Phantom  Ship 

appears : 
They'll  never  reach  their  destined  port,  they'll  see  their 

homes  no  more  : 
They  who  see  the  Flying  Dutchman  never,  never,  reach 

the  shore. 

JOHN  BOYLE  O'REILLY. 


URF-EDGES. 


"  No  more,  no  more,  no  more  " 
(Such  language  holds  the  solemn  sea 
To  the  sands  upon  the  shore.) 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE:   To  One  in  Paradise,  St.  iii. 


SURF. 

OPLENDORS  of  morning  the  billow-crests  brighten, 
O     Lighting  and  luring  them  on  to  the  land,  — 
Far-away  waves  where  the  wan  vessels  whiten, 

Blue  rollers  breaking  in  surf  where  we  stand. 
Curved  like  the  necks  of  a  legion  of  horses, 

Each  with  his  froth-gilded  mane  flowing  free, 
Hither  they  speed  in  perpetual  courses, 

Bearing  thy  riches,  O  beautiful  sea  ! 

Strong  with  the  striving  of  yesterday's  surges, 

Lashed  by  the  wanton  winds  leagues  from  the  shore, 
Each,  driven  fast  by  its  follower,  urges 

Fearlessly  those  that  are  fleeting  before  : 
How  they  leap  over  the  ridges  we  walk  on, 

Flinging  us  gifts  from  the  depths  of  the  sea,  — 
Silvery  fish  for  the  foam -haunting  falcon, 

Palm-weed  and  pearls  for  my  darling  and  me  ! 


Light  falls  her  foot  where  the  rift  follows  after, 
Finer  her  hair  than  your  feathery  spray, 

Sweeter  her  voice  than  your  infinite  laughter. 
Hist !  ye  wild  couriers,  list  to  my  lay  ! 

307 


308  AFTER    THE  STORM. 

Deep  in  the  chambers  of  grottos  auroral 

Morn  laves  her  jewels,  and  bends  her  red  knee : 

Thence  to  my  dear  one  your  amber  and  coral 
Bring  for  her  dowry,  O  beautiful  sea  ! 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN. 


AFTER    THE    STORM. 

"  QWEETHEART,  the  storm  is  over, 
O     Come  watch  the  waves  with  me  :  " 

So  I  said  to  my  baby-lover, 
And  led  him  down  to  the  sea. 

There  the  wild  sea  surged  in  fury 

As  far  as  sight  could  reach, 
While  the  breakers  hurled  their  passion 

In  white  foam  on  the  beach. 

And  the  ceaseless  song  that  the  waters 

Are  sounding  night  and  day 
Was  blent  with  the  shriek  of  the  tempest 

And  the  dashing  of  the  spray. 

But  the  warrior-sun,  victorious 

At  the  portals  of  the  night, 
Wide  flinging  his  crimson  banners, 

Had  whelmed  the  storm  with  light. 

A  sight  sublime  and  solemn, 

As  stern  and  glad  as  life : 
So  I  bade  the  child  be  silent, 

To  watch  the  dying  strife. 


AFTER    THE  STORM.  309 

For  I  thought,  "  Our  heavenly  Father 

Now  speaks  to  man,  his  child. 
Not  only  in  calm  and  sunshine, 

But  in  flood  and  tempest  wild, 

"  His  love  has  its  lesson  for  us, 

Our  waiting  hearts  to  cheer : 
Blest  are  the  eyes  that  see  him  ; 

Blest  are  the  ears  that  hear  ! " 

So  I  lost  myself  in  dreaming, 

With  eyes  on  the  sea's  blue  rim ; 
But  the  child,  with  his  soft  child-fingers, 

Drew  down  my  face  to  him ; 

And  prattled  the  baby-nonsense 

That  is  more  than  sense  to  the  wise, 

With  only  a  glance  for  the  ocean, 
A.nd  a  smile  for  the  burning  skies. 

"  Yes,  darling,"  I  said,  "  but  listen  ; 

The  night  is  too  grand  for  speech : 
Hark  to  the  voice  of  the  waters, 

And  learn  the  wonders  they  teach." 

But  ever  the  dainty  fingers 

Were  busy  with  my  face  ; 
And  the  brook-like  murmur  paused  not 

In  its  quaint,  bewitching  grace. 

Vainly  I  turned  to  seaward  ; 

For  all  that  I  could  hear 
Was  the  sweet  voice,  saying,  "  I  love  you ;  " 

Then  I  bowed  to  the  word  in  fear,  — 


310  THE  SEA. 

In  fear  lest  the  earthly  grandeur, 

And  clouds  in  sunset  piled, 
Had  dimmed  for  me  the  glory 

That  shone  in  the  heart  of  the  child. 

"  Darling,"  I  cried,  "  I  yield  me  ! 

Ah-,  dull  and  deaf  and  blind, 
To  turn  to  nature's  beauty, 

From  the  blessing  of  my  kind  ! 

"  God's  love,  in  truth,  is  in  all  things, 

But  most  in  the  soul  of  man ; 
And  one  smile  of  your  eyes  is  better 

Than  the. best  that  the  cold  earth  can  !  " 

MARION  L.  PELTON. 


THE    SEA. 

FOR,  lo  !  the  Sea  that  fleets  about  the  land, 
And  like  a  girdle  clips  her  solid  waist, 
Music  and  measure  both  doth  understand ; 

For  his  great  crystal  eye  is  always  cast 
Up  to  the  Moon,  and  on  her  fixed  fast. 
And  as  she  danceth  in  her  pallid  sphere, 

So  danceth  he  about  the  centre  here. 

» 

Sometimes  his  proud  green  waves,  in  order  set, 

One  after  other  flow  into  the  shore, 
Which  when  they  have  with  many  kisses  wet, 

They  ebb  away  in  order,  as  before  ; 
And,  to  make  known  his  courtly  love  the  more, 
He  oft  doth  lay  aside  his  three-forkt  mace, 
And  with  his  arms  the  timorous  Earth  embrace. 

JOHN  DAVIES. 


THE  SAILORS    WIFE.  311 


THE    SAILOR'S    WIFE. 

AND  are  ye  sure  the  news  is  true  ? 
And  are  ye  sure  he's  weel? 
Is  this  a  time  to  think  o'  wark? 

Ye  jades,  lay  by  your  wheel ! 
Is  this  the  time  to  spin  a  thread, 

When  Colin's  at  the  door? 
Reach  down  my  cloak  :  I'll  to  the  quay, 

And  see  him  come  ashore. 
For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There's  nae  luck  at  a', 
There's  little  pleasure  in  the  house, 

When  our  gudeman's  awa'. 

And  gie  to  me  my  bigonet,  • 

My  bishop's-satin  gown ; 
For  I  maun  tell  the  baillie's  wife 

That  Colin's  in  the  town. 
My  Turkey  slippers  maun  gae  on, 

My  stockin's  pearly  blue  : 
It's  a'  to  pleasure  our  gudeman, 

For  he's  baith  leal  and  true. 

Rise,  lass,  and  mak'  a  clean  fireside ; 

Put  on  the  muckle  pot ; 
Gie  little  Kate  her  button-gown, 

And  Jock  his  Sunday  coat ; 
And  make  their  shoon  as  black  as  slaes, 

Their  hose  as  white  as  snaw : 
It's  a'  to  please  my  ain  gudeman, 

For  he's  been  long  awa'. 


312  THE  SAILORS    WIFE. 

There's  twa  fat  hens  upo'  the  coop 

Been  fed  this  month  and  mair ; 
Mak'  haste  and  thraw  their  necks  about, 

That  Colin  weel  may  fare ; 
And  spread  the  table  neat  and  clean, 

Gar  ilka  thing  look  braw ; 
For  wha  can  tell  how  Colin  fared 

When  he  was  far  awa'  ? 


Sae  true  his  heart,  sae  smooth  his  speech, 

Hrs  breath  like  caller  air ; 
His  very  foot  has  music  in't 

As  he  comes  up  the  stair. 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again  ? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak? 
I'm  downright?  dizzy  wi'  the  thought : 

In  troth,  I'm  like  to  greet. 

If  Colin's  weel,  and  weel  content, 

I  hae  nae  mair  to  crave ; 
And,  gin  I  live  to  keep  him  sae, 

I'm  blest  aboon  the  lave. 
And  will  I  see  his  face  again? 

And  will  I  hear  him  speak? 
I'm  downright  dizzy  wi'  the  thought : 

In  troth,  I'm  like  to  greet. 
For  there's  nae  luck  about  the  house, 

There's  nae  luck  at  a', 
There's  little  pleasure  in  the  house, 

When  our  gudeman's  awa'. 

WILLIAM  JULIUS  MICKLE. 


THE  SIRENS.  3T3 

THE    SIRENS. 

THE  sea  is  lonely,  the  sea  is  dreary, 
The  sea  is  restless  and  uneasy ; 
Thou  seekest  quiet,  thou  art  weary, 
Wandering  thou  knowest  not  whither ; 
Our  little  isle  is  green  and  breezy : 
Come  rest  thee  !  Oh  !  come  hither ; 
Come  to  this  peaceful  home  of  ours, 

Where  evermore 

The  low  west  wind  creeps  panting  up  the  shore, 
To  be  at  rest  among  the  flowers  ; 
Full  of  rest,  the  green  moss  lifts, 

As  the  dark  waves  of  the  sea 
Draw  in  and  out  of  rocky  rifts, 

Calling  solemnly  to  thee 
With  voices  deep  and  hollow,  — 

"  To  the  shore 
Follow,  oh,  follow  ! 
To  be  at  rest  forevermore  — 
Forevermore." 

Look  how  the  gray  old  Ocean 
From  the  depth  of  his  heart  rejoices, 
Heaving  with  a  gentle  motion, 
When  he  hears  our  restful  voices ; 
List  how  he  sings  in  an  undertone, 
Chiming  in  with  our  melody ; 
And  all  sweet  sounds  of  earth  and  air 
Melt  into  one  low  voice  alone, 
That  murmurs  over  the  weary  sea, 
And  seems  to  sing  from  everywhere, 
"  Here  mayst  thou  harbor  peacefully ; 


314  THE  SIRENS. 

Here  mayst  thou  rest  from  the  aching  oar ; 

Turn  thy  curved  prow  ashore, 
And  in  our  green  isle  rest  forevermore  — 

Forevermore." 

And  Echo  half  wakes  in  the  wooded  hill, 
And,  to  her  heart  so  calm  and  deep, 
Murmurs  over  in  her  sleep, 
Doubtfully  pausing  and  murmuring  still, 
"  Evermore." 
Thus  on  life's  weary  sea 
Heareth  the  marinere 
Voices  sweet,  from  far  and  near, 
Ever  singing  low  and  clear, 
Ever  singing  longingly. 


Is  it  not  better  here  to  be 
Than  to  be  toiling  late  and  soon  ? 
In  the  dreary  night  to  see 
Nothing  but  the  blood-red  moon 
Go  up  and  down  into  the  sea ; 
Or  in  the  loneliness  of  day 

To  see  the  still  seals  only 
Solemnly  lift  their  faces  gray, 

Making  it  yet  more  lonely  ? 
Is  it  not  better  than  to  hear 
Only  the  sliding  of  the  wave 
Beneath  the  plank,  and  feel  so  near 
A  cold  and  lonely  grave, 
A  restless  grave,  where  thou  shalt  lie 
Even  in  death  imquietly  ? 
Look  down  beneath  thy  wave-worn  bark ; 

Lean  over  the  sea,  and  see 


THE  SIRENS.  315 


The  leaden  eye  of  the  sidelong  shark 

Upturned  patiently, 
Ever  waiting  there  for  thee  : 
Look  down  and  see  those  shapeless  forms 
Which  ever  keep  their  dreamless  sleep 
Far  down  within  the  gloomy  deep, 
And  only  stir  themselves  in  storms, 
Rising  like  islands  from  beneath, 
And  snorting  through  the  angry  spray, 
As  the  frail  vessel  perisheth 
In  the  whirls  of  their  unwieldy  play  : 

Look  down,  look  down  ! 
Upon  the  seaweed,  slimy  and  dark, 
That  waves  its  arms  so  lank  and  brown, 

Beckoning  for  thee  \ 

Look  down  beneath  thy  wave-worn  bark 
Into  the  cold  depth  of  the  sea : 
Look  down,  look  down  ! 

Thus  on  life's  lonely  sea 
Heareth  the  marinere 
Voices  sad,  from  far  and  near, 
Ever  singing,  full  of  fear, 
Ever  singing  drearfully. 

Here  all  is  pleasant  as  a  dream  : 
The  wind  scarce  shaketh  down  the  dew ; 
The  green  grass  floweth  like  a  stream 
Into  the  ocean's  blue  : 

Listen,  oh,  listen  ! 
Here  is  a  gush  of  many  streams, 

A  song  of  many  birds, 
And  every  wish  and  longing  seems 
Lulled  to  a  numbered  flow  of  words,  — 


316  THE  SAILOR'S  MOTHER. 

Listen,  oh,  listen  ! 

Here  ever  hum  the  golden  bees 

Underneath  full-blossomed  trees, 

At  once  with  glowing  fruit  and  flowers  crowned. 

The  sand  is  so  smooth,  the  yellow  sand, 

That  thy  keel  will  not  grate  as  it  touches  the  land ; 

All  around,  with  a  slumberous  sound, 

The  singing  waves  slide  up  the  strand ; 

And  there,  where  the  smooth  wet  pebbles  be, 

The  waters  gurgle  longingly, 

As  if  they  fain  would  seek  the  shore, 

To  be  at  rest  from  the  ceaseless  roar, 

To  be  at  rest,  forevermore  — 
Forevermore. 
Thus  on  life's  gloomy  sea, 
Heareth  the  marinere 
Voices  sweet,  from  far  and  near, 
Ever  singing  in  his  ear, 
"  Here  is  rest  and  peace  for  thee." 

JAMES  RUSSELL  LOWELL. 


o1 


THE    SAILOR'S    MOTHER. 

kNE  morning  (raw  it  was  and  wet, 

A  foggy  day  in  winter-time), 
A  woman  on  the  road  I  met, 
Not  old,  though  something  past  her  prime  ; 
Majestic  in  her  person,  tall  and  straight ; 
And  like  a  Roman  matron's  was  her  mien  and  gait. 

The  ancient  spirit  is  not  dead  : 

Old  times,  thought  I,  are  breathing  there. 


THE  SAILOR'S  MOTHER.  317 

Proud  was  I  that  my  country  bred 
Such  strength,  a  dignity  so  fair. 
She  begged  an  alms,  like  one  in  poor  estate : 
I  looked  at  her  again,  nor  did  my  pride  abate. 

When  from  those  lofty  thoughts  I  woke, 
"What  is  it,"  said  I,  "that  you  bear 
Beneath  the  covert  of  your  cloak, 
Protected  from  this  cold,  damp  air  ?" 
She  answered,  soon  as  she  the  question  heard, 
"A  simple  burthen,  sir,  a  little  singing-bird." 

And,  thus  continuing,  she  said, 
"  I  had  a  son,  who  many  a  day 
Sailed  on  the  seas ;  but  he  is  dead. 
In  Denmark  he  was  cast  away ; 
And  I  have  travelled  weary  miles  to  see 
If  aught  which  he  had  owned  might  still  remain  for  me. 

"  The  bird  and  cage,  they  both  were  his  : 
Twas  my  son's  bird ;  and  neat  and  trim 
He  kept  it.     Many  voyages 
The  singing-bird  had  gone  with  him  : 
When  last  he  sailed,  he  left  the  bird  behind, 
From  bodings,  as  might  be,  that  hung  upon  his  mind. 

"  He  to  a  fellow-lodger's  care 
Had  left  it,  to  be  watched  and  fed, 
And  pipe  its  song  in  safety  :  there 
I  found  it  when  my  son  was  dead. 
And  now  —  God  help  me  for  my  little  wit !  — 
I  bear  it  with  me,  sir,  he  took  so  much  delight  in  it." 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 


31 8         THE  SONG  OF  THE  SEA. 


THE  SONG  OF  THE  SEA. 


I  HAVE  heard  the  awful  song 
Which  the  Sea  is  ever  singing ; 
The  tender,  merciless  song 

Which  to  all  the  lands  is  ringing : 
"  Come  unto  me," 
Saith  the  awful  Sea, 
"  And  I  will  give  you  rest. 
It  is  better  to  die  than  to  live ; 
It  is  sweeter  to  sleep  than  to  grieve : 

So  come  and  sleep  on  my  breast." 
The  faces  under  the  earth  and  sea 
Seem  more  patient,  and  joyful  too,  to  me, 
Than  those  that  dwell  on  the  smiling  earth, 
And  sail  on  the  smiling  sea. 
"  Come  unto  me," 
Saith  the  awful  Sea, 
"  And  I  will  give  you  rest. 
A  little  struggle  at  first,  of  course, 
A  little  gasping  for  one  more  breath, 
A  little  agony,  —  nothing  worse,  — 

And  then  the  long,  sweet  sleep  of  death." 

n. 

This  is  the  awful  song 

Which  the  Sea  is  ever  singing ; 
The  tender,  merciless  song 

Which  to  all  the  lands  is  ringing. 
Oh  !  the  Ocean  murdereth  tenderly 

With  soft  blue  waves  which  a  child  might  love ; 


THE  SONG   OF  THE  SEA.  319 

Only  they  creep  so  very  near, 

And  close  so  strong  above  ; 
Gently  forcing  the  struggles  by, 

Gently  stealing  away  the  breath, 
Gently  closing  the  mouth  and  eye, 

Till  the  struggling  face  grows  white  in  death. 
And  then,  when  the  strong  and  terrible  Sea 

Hath  wrought  its  awful  will, 
It  catcheth  the  poor  form  to  its  breast, 

And  husheth  it  very  still ; 
In  the  winding  water's  waving  flow, 
Swaying  it  softly  to  and  fro 
As  the  smiles  of  the  great  Sea  come  and  go, 
With  a  hushing,  tender,  motherly  motion, 
The  awful,  tender,  merciless  Ocean, 

And  singing  the  old,  old  song 

Which  the  Sea  hath  chanted  long : 
"  It  is  better  to  die  than  to  live, 
It  is  sweeter  to  sleep  than  to  grieve  : 

So  death  is  the  kiss  I  give." 


in. 

And  thus  when  we  sail  on  the  sounding  sea, 

Far  out  of  sight  of  land, 
And  on  the  gray  watch-towers  in  the  sky 

The  stars  come  out  to  stand, 
In  the  quiet,  waving  motion  we  feel 
That  the  dead  people  lying  far  under  the  keel 

Are  swaying  softly  to  and  fro 

As  the  smiles  of  the  great  Sea  come  and  go. 
Very  quiet  and  glad  they  must  be, 
Cradled  so  deep  in  the  gentle  sea ; 


320  ON   THE   CLIFF. 

For  no  man  ever  goes  down  in  wrath, 
By  the  wandering,  waving,  shifting  path, 

To  trouble  them  in  their  home ; 
Only  sometimes  a  quiet  drowned  guest 
Comes  slowly  down  to  share  their  rest. 

For  in  answer  to  the  song 

Which  the  Sea  has  chanted  long, 
Sailors  and  women  silently  come 

Through  the  winding  waters  now  and  then ; 

And  the  great  Sea  murmurs,  "  Amen,  amen  ! " 
In  the  pauses  of  its  song. 

IV. 

The  faces  under  the  earth  and  sea 

Are  more  patient,  and  joyful  too,  than  we : 

For  the  grace  of  Christ  on  many  a  face 

Maketh  a  light  in  the  dim  death-place ; 

And  swaying  softly  to  and  fro 

As  the  smiles  of  the  great  Sea  come  and  go, 

Lies  a  fairer  smile  on  the  white,  locked  face, 

As  if  it,  in  some  matchless  mystery, 
Were  'ware  of  the  spirit  standing  high 
Above  all  waves  in  the  starry  sky, 

On  the  silent  crystal  sea. 

MRS.  B.  McANDREW. 


ON    THE    CLIFF. 

SEE  where  the  crest  of  the  long  promontory, 
Decked  by  October  in  crimson  and  brown, 
Lies  like  the  scene  of  some  fairy-land  story, 
Over  the  sands  to  the  deep  sloping  down ; 


THE    TIDE-ROCK.  321 

See  the  white  mist  on  the  hidden  horizon 
Hang  like  the  folds  of  the  curtain  of  fate ; 

See  where  yon  shadow  the  green  water  flies  on, 
Cast  from  a  cloud  for  the  conclave  too  late. 

See  the  small  ripples  in  curving  ranks  chasing 

Every  light  breeze  running  out  from  the  shore, 
Gleeful  as  children  when  merrily  racing, 

Hand  interlocked,  o'er  a  wide  meadow-floor ; 
See  round  the  pier  how  the  tossing  wave  sparkles, 

Bright  as  the  hope  in  a  love-lighted  breast ; 
See  the  one  sail  in  the  sunlight  that  darkles, 

Laboring  home  from  the  lands  of  the  west. 

See  the  low  surf  where  it  restlessly  tumbles, 

Swiftly  advancing,  and  then  in  retreat ; 
See  how  the  tall  cliff  yields  slowly,  and  crumbles, 

Sliding  away  to  the  gulfs  at  our  feet. 
Sure  is  thy  victory,  emblem  of  weakness ; 

Certain  thine  overthrow,  ponderous  wall : 
Brittle  is  sternness,  but  mighty  is  meekness, 

O  wave  that  will  conquer  !  O  cliff  that  must  fall ! 

ROSSITER  JOHNSON. 


THE    TIDE-ROCK. 

HOW  sleeps  yon  rock,  whose  half-day's  bath  is  done, 
With  broad  bright  side  beneath  the  broad  bright  sun, 
Like  sea-nymph  tired,  on  cushioned  mosses  sleeping  ! 
Yet  nearer  draw  :  beneath  her  purple  tresses 
From  drooping  brows  we  find  her  slowly  weeping. 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 


322  FROM  "DRIFT: 


FROM    "DRIFT." 

THE  breakers  come  and  the  breakers  go 
Along  the  silvery  sand, 
With  a  changing  line  of  feathery  snow 
Between  the  water  and  the  land. 

Seaweeds  gleam  in  the  sunset  light, 

On  the  ledges  of  wave-worn  stone, 
Orange  and  crimson,  purple  and  white, 

In  regular  windrows  strewn. 

The  waves  grow  calm  in  the  dusk  of  eve, 
When  the  wind  goes  down  with  the  sun : 

So  fade  the  smiles  of  those  who  deceive 
When  the  coveted  heart  is  won. 

The  seaweed  wreath  that  hangs  on  the  wall, 

She  twined  one  day  by  the  sea : 
Of  the  weeds,  and  the  waves,  and  her  love,  it  is  all 

That  the  past  has  left  to  me  ! 

GEORGE  ARNOLD. 


EBB    AND    FLOW. 

I  WALKED  beside  the  evening  sea, 
And  dreamed  a  dream  that  could  not  be 
The  waves  that  plunged  along  the  shore 
Said  only,  "  Dreamer,  dream  no  more." 

But  still  the  legions  charged  the  beach; 
And  rang  their  battle-cry,  like  speech  : 
But  changed  was  the  imperial  strain ; 
It  murmured,  "  Dreamer,  dream  again." 


FROM  "  LUCILE."  323 

I  homeward  turned  from  out  the  gloom  : 
That  sound  I  heard  not  in  my  room, 
But  suddenly  a  sound  that  stirred 
Within  my  very  breast  I  heard. 

It  was  my  heart,  that  like  a  sea 

Within  my  breast  beat  ceaselessly ; 

But,  like  the  waves  along  the  shore, 

It  said,  "  Dream  on  ! "  and  "  Dream  no  more  !  " 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


FROM    "LUCILE." 
(PART  n.  CANTO  6.) 

MARK  yon  ship  far  away, 
Asleep  on  the  wave,  in  the  last  light  of  day, 
With  all  its  hushed  thunders  shut  up  !     Would  you  know 
A  thought  which  came  to  me  a  few  days  ago, 
Whilst  watching  those  ships  ?  .  .  .  When  the  great  Ship 

of  Life, 

Surviving,  though  shattered,  the  tumult  and  strife 
Of  earth's  angry  element,  —  masts  broken  short, 
Decks  drenched,  bulwarks  beaten,  —  drives  safe  into  port ; 
When  the  Pilot  of  Galilee,  seen  on  the  strand, 
Stretches  over  the  waters  a  welcoming  hand  ; 
When,  heeding  no  longer  the  sea's  baffled  roar, 
The  mariner  turns  to  his  rest  evermore,  — 
What  will  then  be  the  answer  the  helmsman  must  give  ? 
Will  it  be? — "  Lo,  our  log-book  !     Thus  once  did  we  live 
In  the  zones  of  the  South ;  thus  we  traversed  the  seas 
Of  the  Orient ;  there  dwelt  in  the  Hesperides  ; 
Thence  followed  the  west  wind  ;  here  eastward  we  turned ; 
The  stars  failed  us  there  ;  just  here  land  we  discerned 


324  BABETTE. 

On  our  lee  ;  there  the  storm  overtook  us  at  last ; 
That  day  went  the  bowsprit,  the  next  day,  the  mast ; 
There  the  mermen  came  round  us,  and  there  we  saw  bask 
A  siren."     The  Captain  of  port,  will  he  ask 
Any  one  of  such  questions  ?     I  cannot  think  so. 
But —  "  What  is  the  last  bill  of  health  you  can  show?  " 
Not,  "How  fared  the  soul  through  the  trials  she  passed?  " 
But,  "  What  is  the  state  of  that  soul  at  the  last  ?  " 

OWEN  MEREDITH. 


BABETTE. 

ALONE  ;  and  the  golden  waters 
Are  rippling  to  the  west ; 
And  the  chime  from  St.  Roch's  belfry 

Dies  on  the  ocean's  breast ; 
And  the  dimpled  waves  are  rocking 
The  fishers'  barks  to  rest. 

"  Babette,  Babette  !  "  the  mother  calls, 

Far  up  above  the  strand, 
"  Bring  in  your  father's  nets,  my  child, 

And  lend  your  little  hand 
To  turn  the  wheel ;  nor  linger  there 

So  long  upon  the  strand." 

The  sun  is  sinking  in  the  sea 
In  crimson  robes  and  gold : 

A  chilly  breath  the  ocean  stirs, 
And  roughs  her  ringlets  gold ; 

It  feels  to  her  like  a  farewell  kiss 
From  lips  now  dead  and  cold. 


BABETTE.  325 

The  yellow  light  is  on  the  wall, 

The  sea-wall  old,  and  gray 
With  weed  and  lichen,  mantled  all 

In  sober-hued  array. 
The  children  on  the  pier  above 

Are  laughing  in  their  play. 

The  quaint  old  red-roofed  clustered  town 

Looks  downward  on  the  wave ; 
That  sea  from  which  her  wistful  eye 

Some  answer  seems  to  crave ; 
That  sea  which  took  her  love  away, 

And  gave  her  back  a  grave. 

Oh,  eyes  that  once  so  lightly  laughed  ! 

Oh,  sad,  sweet  lips  apart, 
Once  crushed  with  passionate  kisses  when 

He  held  her  on  his  heart ! 
That  day  she  stood  this  wall  beneath 

To  see  her  lover  start ; 

To  say  again  the  last  "  God  speed  ! " 

And  wave  her  'kerchief  white, 
And  smile  in  hope.     Ah  !  God,  who  raised 

Those  breakers  wild  and  white, 
And  bade  the  tempest  to  arise 

And  rage  that  livelong  night, 

And  smote  the  little  quivering  bark, 

And  tore  the  planks  in  twain, 
Deal  gently  with  the  broken  heart 

Of  her,  who  all  in  vain 
Poured  out  her  soul  in  fervent  prayer 

Her  love  to  see  again. 


326  THE  MAID   OF  ISLA. 

No,  not  in  vain.     The  morning  dawned, 

The  sunshine  glittered  fair, 
And  bathed  in  light  a  battered  corpse, 

A  gleam  of  golden  hair  : 
God  only  heard  the  cry  of  her 

Who  found  him  lying  there. 

ANONYMOUS. 


THE    MAID    OF    ISLA. 

OMAID  of  Isla  !  from  the  cliff 
That  looks  on  troubled  wave  and  sky, 
Dost  thou  not  see  yon  little  skiff 
Contend  with  ocean  gallantly? 
Now  beating  'gainst  the  breeze  and  surge, 
And  steeped  her  leeward  deck  in  foam, 
Why  does  she  war  unequal  urge  ?  — 
O  Isla's  maid  !  she  seeks  her  home. 

O  Isla's  maid  !  yon  sea-bird  mark  : 

Her  white  wing  gleams  through  mist  and  spray 
Against  the  storm-cloud,  lowering  dark, 

As  to  the  rock  she  wheels  away : 
Where  clouds  are  dark,  and  billows  rave, 

Why  to  the  shelter  should  she  come 
Of  cliff  exposed  to  wind  and  wave? 

O  maid  of  Isla  !  'tis  her  home. 

As  breeze  and  tide  to  yonder  skiff, 
Thou'rt  adverse  to  the  suit  I  bring, 

And  cold  as  is  yon  wintry  cliff, 

Where  sea-birds  close  their  wearied  wing. 


THE  DEAD  HAND.  327 

Yet  cold  as  rock,  unkind  as  wave, 
Still,  Isla's  maid,  to  thee  I  come ; 

For  in  thy  love,  or  in  his  grave, 
Must  Allan  Vourich  find  his  home. 

SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 


THE    DEAD    HAND. 

E  witch-ladye  walked  along  the  strand, 
Heard  a  roaring  of  the  sea ; 
On  the  edge  of  a  pool  saw  a  dead  man's  hand, 
Good  for  a  witch-ladye. 

Light  she  stepped  across  the  rocks, 

Came  where  the  dead  man  lay : 
"  Now,  maiden  fair,  with  your  merry  mocks, 

Now  I  shall  have  my  way." 

On  his  finger  gleamed  a  sapphire  blue  : 
"  Oh,  that's  my  ring  !  "  she  said ; 

"  And  back  I  take  my  promise  true, 
For  the  old  love  is  dead." 

She  took  the  dead  hand  in  the  live, 

And  at  the  ring  drew  she  ; 
But  the  dead  hand  closed  witli  its  fingers  five, 

And  they  held  the  witch-ladye. 

Cold,  cold,  with  death,  came  up  the  tide, 

In  no  manner  of  haste  ; 
Up  to  her  knees,  and  up  to  her  side, 

Up  to  her  wicked  waist. 


328  SKIPPER  BEN. 

And  over  the  blue  sea  went  the  bride, 

All  in  her  true  love's  ship ; 
And  up  and  up  came  the  blue  tide 

Over  the  witch's  lip. 

For  the  hand  of  the  dead  and  the  heart  of  the  dead 

Are  strong  hasps  they  to  hold  : 
The  new  love  went  with  the  fair,  fair  maid, 

And  left  the  witch  with  the  old. 

GEORGE  MACDONALD. 


SKIPPER    BEN. 

SAILING  away  ! 
Losing  the  breath  of  the  shores  in  May, 
Dropping  down  from  the  beautiful  bay, 
Over  the  sea-slope  vast  and  gray. 
And  the  skipper's  eyes  with  a  mist  are  blind ; 
For  a  vision  comes  on  the  rising  wind, 
Of  a  gentle  face  that  he  leaves  behind, 
And  a  heart  that  throbs  through  the  fog-bank  dim, 
Thinking  of  him. 

Far  into  night 

He  watches  the  gleam  of  the  lessening  light 
Fixed  on  the  dangerous  island  height 
That  bars  the  harbor  he  loves  from  sight. 
And  he  wishes,  at  dawn,  he  could  tell  the  tale 
Of  how  they  had  weathered  the  south-west  gale, 
To  brighten  the  cheek  that  had  grown  so  pale 
With  a  wakeful  night  among  spectres  grim,  — 

Terrors  for  him. 


SKIPPER  BEN.  329 

Yo-heave-yo  ! 

Here's  the  Bank  where  the  fishermen  go. 
Over  the  schooner's  side  they  throw 
Tackle  and  bait  to  the  deeps  below. 
And  Skipper  Ben  in  the  water  sees, 
When  its  ripples  curl  to  the  light  land-breeze, 
Something  that  stirs  like  his  apple-trees, 
And  two  soft  eyes  that  beneath  them  swim, 

Lifted  to  hirn. 

Hear  the  wind  roar, 

And  the  rain  through  the  slit  sails  tear  and  pour  ! 
"  Steady  !  we'll  scud  by  the  Cape  Ann  shore, 
Then  hark  to  the  Beverly  bells  once  more  ! " 
And  each  man  worked  with  the  will  of  ten ; 
While  up  the  rigging,  now  and  then, 
The  lightning  glared  in  the  face  of  Ben, 
Turned  to  the  black  horizon's  rim, 

Scowling  on  him. 

Into  his  brain 

Burned  with  the  iron  of  hopeless  pain, 
Into  thoughts  that  grapple,  and  eyes  that  strain, 
Pierces  the  memory,  cruel  and  vain. 
Never  again  shall  he  walk  at  ease 
Under  the  blossoming  apple-trees 
That  whisper  and  sway  in  the  sunset  breeze, 
While  the  soft  eyes  float  where  the  sea-gulls  skim, 

Gazing  with  him. 

How  they  went  down 
Never  was  known  in  the  still  old  town. 
Nobody  guessed  how  the  fisherman  brown, 
With  the  look  of  despair  that  was  half  a  frown, 


330  THE    WATCH  OF  BOON  ISLAND. 

Faced  his  fate  in  the  furious  night, 
Faced  the  mad  billows  with  hunger  white, 
Just  within  hail  of  the  beacon-light 
That  shone  on  a  woman  sweet  and  trim, 
\Taiting  for  him. 

Beverly  bells, 

Ring  to  the  tide  as  it  ebbs  and  swells  ! 
His  was  the  anguish  a  moment  tells,  — 
The  passionate  sorrow  death  quickly  knells. 
But  the  wearing  wash  of  a  lifelong  woe 
Is  left  for  the  desolate  heart  to  know, 
Whose  tides  with  the  dull  years  come  and  go, 
Till  hope  drifts  dead  to  its  stagnant  brim, 

Thinking  of  him. 

LUCY  LARCOM. 


THE    WATCH    OF    BOON    ISLAND. 

THEY  crossed  the  lonely  and  lamenting  sea  : 
Its   moaning   seemed   but   singing.      "  Wilt   thou 
dare," 

He  asked  her,  "  brave  the  loneliness  with  me  ?  " 
"What  loneliness,"  she  said,  "if  thou  art  there?" 

Afar  and  cold  on  the  horizon's  rim 

Loomed  the  tall  lighthouse,  like  a  ghastly  sign : 
They  sighed  not  as  the  shore  behind  grew  dim ; 

A  rose  of  joy  they  bore  across  the  brine. 

They  gained  the  barren  rock,  and  made  their  home 
Among  the  wild  waves  and  the  sea-birds  wild  : 

The  wintry  winds  blew  fierce  across  the  foam, 
But  in  each  other's  eyes  they  looked  and  smiled. 


THE    WATCH  OF  BOON  ISLAND.  331 

Aloft  the  lighthouse  sent  its  warnings  wide, 

Fed  by  their  faithful  hands ;  and  ships  in  sight 

With  joy  beheld  it ;  and  on  land  men  cried, 

"  Look,  clear  and  steady  burns  Boon-Island  Light !  " 

And  while  they  trimmed  the  lamp  with  busy  hands, 
"Shine  far  and  through  the  dark,  sweet  light,"  they 
cried ; 

"  Bring  safely  back  the  sailors  from  all  lands 
To  waiting  love,  —  wife,  mother,  sister,  bride  !  " 

No  tempest  shook  their  calm,  though  many  a  storm 
Tore  the  vexed  ocean  into  furious  spray ; 

No  chill  could  find  them  in  their  Eden  waim, 
And  gently  time  lapsed  onward  day  by  day. 

Said  I  no  chill  could  find  them?    There  is  one 
Whose  awful  footfalls  everywhere  are  known, 

With  echoing  sobs  who  chills  the  summer  sun, 
And  turns  the  happy  heart  of  youth  to  stone,  — 

Inexorable  Death,  a  silent  guest 

At  every  hearth,  before  whose  footsteps  flee 

All  joys  ;  who  rules  the  earth,  and  without  rest 
Roams  the  vast  shuddering  spaces  of  the  sea. 

Death  found  them ;  turned  his  face,  and  passed  her  by, 

But  laid  a  finger  on  her  lover's  lips ; 
And  there  was  silence.     Then  the  storm  ran  high, 

And  tossed  and  troubled  sore  the  distant  ships. 

Nay,  who  shall  speak  the  terrors  of  the  night, 
The  speechless  sorrow,  the  supreme  despair? 

Still  like  a  ghost  she  trimmed  the  waning  light, 
Dragging  her  slow  weight  up  the  winding  stair. 


33  2  THE    WATCH  OF  BOON  ISLAND. 

With  more  than  oil  the  saving  lamp  she  fed, 

While  lashed  to  madness  the  wild  sea  she  heard  : 

She  kept  her  awful  vigil  with  the  dead, 
And  God's  sweet  pity  still  she  ministered. 

O  sailors,  hailing  loud  the  cheerful  beam, 

Piercing  so  far  the  tumult  of  the  dark, 
A  radiant  star  of  hope,  you  could  not  dream 

What  misery  there  sat  cherishing  that  spark  ! 

Three  times  the  night,  too  terrible  to  bear, 
Descended,  shrouded  in  the  storm.  At  last 

The  sun  rose  clear  and  still  on  her  despair, 
And  all  her  striving  to  the  winds  she  cast, 

And  bowed  her  head,  and  let  the  light  die  out, 
For  the  wide  sea  lay  calm  as  her  dead  love. 

When  evening  fell,  from  the  far  land,  in  doubt, 
Vainly  to  find  that  faithful  star  men  strove. 

Sailors  and  landsmen,  and  women's  eyes, 
For  pity  ready,  search  in  vain  the  night ; 

And  wondering  neighbor  unto  neighbor  cries, 

"  Now  what,  think  you,  can  ail  Boon-Island  Light  ?  " 

Out  from  the  coast,  toward  her  high  tower,  they  sailed : 
They  found  her  watching,  silent,  by  her  dead,  — 

A  shadowy  woman,  who  nor  wept  nor  wailed, 
But  answered  what  they  spake,  till  all  was  said. 

They  bore  the  dead  and  living  both  away : 

With  anguish  time  seemed  powerless  to  destroy 

She  turned,  and  back  ward  ^azed  across  the  bay  — 
Lost  in  the  sad  sea  lay  her  rose  of  joy. 

CELIA  THAXTER. 


THE  FISHERMAN.  333 

THE    FISHERMAN. 

THE  waters  rushed,  the  waters  rose  ; 
A  fisherman  sat  by, 
While  on  his  line  in  calm  repose 

He  cast  his  patient  eye  : 
And  as  he  sat  and  hearkened  there, 

The  flood  was  cleft  in  twain, 
And,  lo  !  a  dripping  mermaid  fair 
Sprang  from  the  troubled  main. 

She  sang  to  him,  and  spake  the  while  : 

"  Why  lurest  thou  my  brood, 
With  human  wit  and  human  guile, 

From  out  their  native  flood  ? 
Oh  !  couldst  thou  know  how  gladly  dart 

The  fish  across  the  sea, 
Thou  wouldst  descend,  e'en  as  thou  art, 

And  truly  happy  be. 

"Do  not  the  sun  and  moon  with  grace 

Their  forms  in  ocean  lave  ? 
Shines  not  with  twofold  charms  their  face 

When  rising  from  the  wave  ? 
The  deep,  deep  heavens,  then  lure  thee  not ; 

The  moist  yet  radiant  blue ; 
Not  thine  own  form,  —  to  tempt  thy  lot 

Midst  this  eternal  dew?  " 

The  waters  rushed,  the  waters  rose, 

Wetting  his  naked  feet : 
As  if  his  true  love's  words  were  those, 

His  heart  with  longing  beat. 


334  THE  FISHER-MAID. 

She  sang  to  him,  to  him  spake  she ; 

His  doom  was  fixed,  I  ween  : 
Half  drew  she  him,  and  half  sank  he, 

And  ne'er  again  was  seen. 

JOHANN  WOLFGANG  VON  GOETHE. 
TRANSLATION  OF  E.  A.  BOWRING. 


THE    FISHER-MAID. 

F  I  were  a  noble  lady, 
And  he  a  peasant  born, 
With  nothing  but  his  good  right  hand 

Twixt  him  and  the  world's  scorn, 
Oh  !  I  would  speak  so  humble, 

And  I  would  smile  so  meek, 
And  cool  with  tears  this  fierce,  hot  flush 

He  left  upon  my  cheek. 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  boat, 

Let's  watch  the  anchor  weighed  ; 
For  he  is  a  great  sea-captain, 

And  I  a  fisher-maid. 

"  If  I  were  a  royal  princess, 

And  he  a  captive  poor, 
I  would  cast  down  these  steadfast  eyes 

Under  the  bolted  door, 
And,  walking  brave  in  all  men's  sight, 

Low  at  his  feet  would  fall : 
Sceptre  and  crown  and  womanhood,  — 

My  love  should  take  them  all. 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  boat, 

Alone  by  the  sea  and  sky ; 
For  he  is  a  bold  sea-captain, 

A  fisher-maiden  I. 


FROM  "A   LIFE  DRAMA."  335 

"  If  I  were  a  saint  in  heaven, 

And  he  a  sinner  pale, 
Whom  good  men  passed  with  face  avert, 

And  left  him  to  his  bale, 
Mine  eyes  they  should  weep  rivers, 

My  voice  reach  that  great  Throne, 
Beseeching,  '  Oh,  be  merciful ! 

Make  Thou  mine  own  Thine  own  ! ' 
Sing  heigh,  sing  ho,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  boat : 

Love  only  cannot  fade, 
Though  he  be  a  bold  sea-captain, 

And  I  a  fisher-maid." 

Close  stood  the  young  sea-captain ; 

His  tears  fell  fast  as  rain  : 
"  If  I  have  sinned,  I'll  sin  no  more  — 

God  judge  between  us  twain  ! " 
The  gold  ring  flashed  in  sunshine, 

The  small  waves  laughing  curled  — 
"  Our  ship  rocks  at  the  harbor-bar, 

Away  to  the  under- world." 
"  Farewell,  farewell,  my  bonnie,  bonnie  boat ! 

Now  Heaven  us  bless  and  aid ; 
For  my  lord  is  a  great  sea-captain, 

And  I  was  a  fisher-maid." 

DINAH  MARIA  MULOCH. 
FROM    "A    LIFE    DRAMA." 

(SCENE  VII.) 

THE  lark  is  singing  in  the  blinding. sky, 
Hedges  are  white  with  May.     The  bridegroom  Sea 
Is  toying  with  the  Shore,  his  wedded  bride, 
And  in  the  fulness  of  his  marriage-joy 


336  BY  THE  SEA. 

He  decorates  her  tawny  brow  with  shells, 
Retires  a  space  to  see  how  fair  she  looks, 
Then  proud  runs  up  to  kiss  her.     All  is  fair, 
All  glad,  from  grass  to  sun. 

ALEXANDER  SMITH. 


BY    THE    SEA. 

UPON  the  lonely  shore  I  lie  : 
The  wind  is  faint,  the  tide  is  low  ; 
Some  way  there  seems  a  human  sigh 
In  the  great  waves  that  inward  flow, 

As  if  all  love  and  loss  and  pain 
That  ever  swept  their  shining  track 

Had  met  within  the  caverned  main, 
And,  rising,  meaningly  come  back. 

Upon  the  lonely  shore  I  lie, 
And  gaze  along  its  level  sands : 

Still  from  the  sea  steals  out  the  cry 
I  left  afar  in  crowded  lands. 

Upon  the  sea-beach,  cool  and  still, 
I  press  my  cheek ;  and  yet  I  hear 

The  jar  of  earth,  and  catch  the  thrill 
Of  human  effort,  hot  and  near. 

Come,  peace  of  nature  !     Lone  I  lie 
Within  the  calm  midsummer  noon  : 

All  human  want  I  fain  would  fly, 
Sing,  summer  sea,  in  silvery  croon ! 


SONG.  337 

In  noon's  great  gladness  hush  thy  moan, 

In  vast  possession  unbereft : 
No  music,  haunting  all  thy  tone, 

Can  make  me  want  the  world  I've  left. 

MARY  CLEMMER. 

A  BARREN  STRETCH  THAT  SLANTS  TO  THE  SALT 
SEA'S  GRAY. 

A  BARREN  stretch  that  slants  to  the  salt  sea's  gray, 
Rock- strewn,  and  scarred  by  fire,  and  rough  with 

stubble, 

With  here  and  there  a  bold,  bright  touch  of  color, 
Berries  and  yellow  leaves,  that  make  the  dolor 
More  dolorous  still.     Above,  a  sky  of  trouble. 

But  now  a  light  is  lifted  in  the  air ; 

And  though  the  sky  is  shadowed,  fold  on  fold, 
By  clouds  that  have  the  lightnings  in  their  hold, 
That  western  gleam  makes  all  the  dim  earth  fair : 

The  sun  shines  forth,  and  the  gray  sea  is  gold. 

RICHARD  WATSON  GILDER. 


SONG. 

T)  USHES  lean  over  the  water, 
JA^    Shells  lie  on  the  shore  ; 
And  thou,  the  blue  Ocean's  daughter, 
Sleep'st  soft  in  the  song  of  its  roar. 

Clouds  sail  over  the  ocean  ; 

White  gusts  fleck  its  calm  : 
But  never  its  wildest  motion 

Thy  beautiful  rest  should  harm. 


338       SHELLS  ON  THE  SEASHORE. 

White  feet  on  the  edge  of  the  billow 
Mock  its  smooth-seething  cream  ; 

Hard  ribs  of  beach-sand  thy  pillow, 
And  a  noble  lover  thy  dream. 

Like  tangles  of  seaweed  streaming 

Over  a  perfect  pearl, 
Thy  fair  hair  fringes  thy  dreaming, 

O  sleeping  Lido  girl ! 

GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 


SHELLS    ON    THE    SEASHORE. 

A     YELLOW  stretch  of  rippling  sand 
_L\_     Curved  by  the  bay  to  two  gold  lips : 

Ah,  look  !  the  blue  sea  slyly  slips, 
Faint,  frothing  up  the  shingly  strand, 
Just  takes  the  kiss,  and  then,  for  fear, 
Reflows,  but  ebbs  to  re-appear. 

The  sea-shells  strewn  around  sing  low 
The  secret  sea-things  that  they  know. 

WILLIAM  SHARP. 


THE    FORSAKEN    MERMAN. 

COME,  dear  children,  let  us  away ; 
Down  and  away  below  ! 
Now  my  brothers  call  from  the  bay, 
Now  the  great  winds  shoreward  blow, 
Now  the  salt  tides  seaward  flow, 
Now  the  wild  white  horses  play, 
Champ  and  chafe  and  toss  in  the  spray. 


THE  FORSAKEN  MERMAN.  339 

Children  dear,  let  us  away ; 
This  way,  this  way  ! 

Call  her  once  before  you  go, 

Call  once  yet, 

In  a  voice  that  she  will  know : 

"  Margaret,  Margaret  !  " 

Children's  voices  should  be  dear 

(Call  once  more)  to  a  mother's  ear ; 

Children's  voices,  wild  with  pain  — 

Surely  she  will  come  again  ! 

Call  her  once,  and  come  away ; 

This  way,  this  way  ! 

"  Mother  dear,  we  cannot  stay  : 

The  wild  white  horses  foam  and  fret." 

Margaret,  Margaret ! 

Come,  dear  children,  come  away  down ; 

Call  no  more  : 

One  last  look  at  the  white-walled  town, 

And  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  shore ; 

Then  come  down. 

She  will  not  come,  though  you  call  all  day : 

Come  away,  come  away  ! 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 

We  heard  the  sweet  bells  over  the  bay, 

In  the  caverns  where  we  lay, 

Through  the  surf,  and  through  the  swell, 

The  far-off  sound  of  a  silver  bell  ? 

Sand-strewn  caverns,  cool  and  deep, 

Where  the  winds  are  all  asleep ; 

Where  the  spent  lights  quiver  and  gleam ; 

Where  the  salt  weed  sways  in  the  stream  ; 


340  THE  FORSAKEN  MERMAN. 

Where  the  sea-beasts,  ranged  all  around, 
Feed  in  the  ooze  of  their  pasture-ground ; 
Where  the  sea-snakes  coil  and  twine, 
Dry  their  mail,  and  bask  in  the  brine ; 
Where  great  whales  come  sailing  by, 
Sail  and  sail,  with  unshut  eye, 
Round  the  world  forever  and  aye  ? 
When  did  music  come  this  way? 
.Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday? 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday 

(Call  yet  once)  that  she  went  away? 

Once  she  sate  with  you  and  me, 

On  a  red  gold  throne  in  the  heart  of  the  sea, 

And  the  youngest  sate  on  her  knee. 

She  combed  its  bright  hair,  and  she  tended  it  well, 

When  down  swung  the  sound  of  a  far-off  bell. 

She  sighed,  she  looked  up  through  the  clear  green  sea ; 

She  said,  "  I  must  go,  for  my  kinsfolk  pray 

In  the  little  gray  church  on  the  shore  to-day. 

'Twill  be  Easter-time  in  the  world  —  ah,  me  ! 

And  I  lose  my  poor  soul,  merman,  here  with  thee." 

I  said,  "  Go  up,  dear  heart,  through  the  waves, 

Say  thy  prayer,  and  come  back  to  the  kind  sea-caves." 

She  smiled,  she  went  up  through  the  surf  in  the  bay. 

Children  dear,  was  it  yesterday? 

Children  dear,  were  we  long  alone  ? 

"  The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones  moan  : 

Long  prayers,"  I  said,  "  in  the  world  they  say. 

Come  !  "  I  said.    And  we  rose  through  the  surf  in  the  bay. 

We  went  up  the  beach,  by  the  sandy  down 

Where  the  sea-stocks  bloom,  to  the  white-walled  town ; 


THE  FORSAKEN  MERMAN.  341 

Through  the  narrow  paved  streets,  where  all  was  still ; 

To  the  little  gray  church  on  the  windy  hill. 

From  the  church  came  a  murmur  of  folk  at  their  prayers, 

But  we  stood  without  in  the  cold  blowing  airs. 

We  climbed  on  the  graves,  on  the  stones  worn  with  rains  ; 

And  we  gazed  up  the  aisle  through  the  small  leaded  panes. 

She  sate  by  the  pillar ;  we  saw  her  clear : 

"  Margaret,  hist !  come  quick,  we  are  here  ! 

Dear  heart,"  I  said,  "  we  are  long  alone  : 

The  sea  grows  stormy,  the  little  ones  moan." 

But,  ah  !  she  gave  me  never  a  look, 

For  her  eyes  were  sealed  to  the  holy  book. 

Loud  prays  the  priest ;  shut  stands  the  door. 

Come  away,  children  ;  call  no  more  ! 

Come  away,  come  down ;  call  no  more  ! 

Down,  down,  down, 

Down  to  the  depths  of  the  sea  ! 

She  sits  at  her  wheel  in  the  humming  town, 

Singing  most  joyfully. 

Hark  what  she  sings  :  "  O  joy,  O  joy, 

For  the  humming  street,  and  the  child  with  its  toy, 

For  the  priest,  and  the  bell,  and  the  holy  well, 

For  the  wheel  when  I  spun, 

And  the  blessed  light  of  the  sun  ! " 

And  so  she  sings  her  fill, 

Singing  most  joyfully, 

Till  the  spindle  drops  from  her  hand, 

And  the  whizzing  wheel  stands  still. 

She  steals  to  the  window,  and  looks  at  the  sand, 

And  over  the  sand  at  the  sea ; 

And  her  eyes  are  set  at  a  stare. 

And  anon  there  breaks  a  sigh, 


342  THE  FORSAKEN  MERMAN. 

And  anon  there  drops  a  tear, 

From  a  sorrow-clouded  eye 

And  a  heart  sorrow-laden,  — 

A  long,  long  sigh, 

For  the  cold,  strange  eyes  of  a  little  mermaiden, 

And  the  gleam  of  her  golden  hair. 

Come  away,  away,  children  ! 
Come,  children,  come  down  ! 
The  hoarse  wind  blows  colder ; 
Lights  shine  in  the  town. 
She  will  start  from  her  slumber 
When  gusts  shake  the  door ; 
She  will  hear  the  winds  howling, 
Will  hear  the  waves  roar. 
We  shall  see,  while  above  us 
The  waves  roar  and  whirl, 
A  ceiling  of  amber, 
A  pavement  of  pearl. 
Singing :  "  Here  came  a  mortal, 
But  faithless  was  she  ; 
And  alone  dwell  forever 
The  kings  of  the  sea." 

But,  children,  at  midnight, 
When  soft  the  winds  blow, 
When  clear  falls  the  moonlight, 
When  spring-tides  are  low, 
WThen  sweet  airs  come  seaward 
From  heaths  starred  with  broom, 
And  high  rocks  throw  wildly 
On  the  blanched  sands  a  gloom,' 
Up  the  still,  glistening  beaches, 


PARTING  AT  MORNING.  343 


Up  the  creeks,  we  will  hie, 

Over  banks  of  bright  seaweed 

The  ebb-tide  leaves  dry. 

We  will  gaze  from  the  sand-hills 

At  the  white,  sleeping  town, 

At  the  church  on  the  hillside, 

And  then  come  back  down, 

Singing,  "  There  dwells  a  loved  one ; 

But  cruel  is  she  : 

She  left  lonely  forever 

The  kings  of  the  sea." 


MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 


IT    IS    A    BEAUTEOUS    EVENING. 

IT  is  a  beauteous  evening,  calm  and  free  ; 
The  holy  time  is  quiet  as  a  nun 
Breathless  with  adoration ;  the  broad  sun 
Is  sinking  down  in  its  tranquillity. 
The  gentleness  of  Heaven  broods  o'er  the  sea ; 
Listen  !  the  mighty  Being  is  awake, 
And  doth  with  his  eternal  motion  ma^e 
A  sound  like  thunder  —  everlastingly. 

•  WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 


PARTING    AT    MORNING. 

ROUND  the  cape  of  a  sudden  came  the  sea, 
And  the  sun  looked  over  the  mountain's  rim, 
And  straight  was  a  path  of  gold  for  him, 
And  the  need  of  a  world  of  men  for  me. 

ROBERT  BROWNING. 


344      WHAT  THE  SHORE  SAYS    TO    THE  SEA. 


o1 


WHAT    THE    SHORE    SAYS    TO    THE    SEA. 
(EBB-TIDE.) 

kLD,  old, 

Centuries  old, 
How  old  a  love  is  who  can  say? 
It  is  an  ancient  day 

Since  thou  and  I  wert  wed. 
The  orbed  sky  bent  down 
A  fiery,  scornful  crown, 
Not  craven  pale  as  now, 
Live-red  to  bind  thy  brow, 
Crested  red  and  lovely, 

Only 
To  coronet  thy  head. 

Thou,  I, 

Beneath  His  eye, 
Existed  solitary,  grand. 
Oh,  only  life  —  the  life  of  sea  and  land  ! 

All  puny  heritage 
Of  puny  love  and  loss 
Carffe  mimic  after  us. 
Our  mighty  wedlock  meant 
More  than  their  supplement.    • 
Ere  these,  we  perfect  were 

And  are 
In  pain  and  privilege. 

My  own  true-hearted, 
Since  first  He  parted 
Thee  from  me, 
Behold  and  see 


WHAT  THE  SEA   SAYS   TO    THE  SHORE.     345 

How  dreary,  mute, 

Bound  hand  and  foot, 

Stretched,  starved,  I  lie  ! 

I  hear  thee  stepping  by, 
And  weep  to  see 
Thee  yearn  to  me. 

Bound  by  an  awful  Will, 
Forever  and  forever  thou  dost  move 

An  awful  errand  on. 

O  Love  ! 

Steal  up  and  say,  is  there  below,  above, 
In  height  or  depth,  or  choice  or  unison 
Of  woes,  a  woe  like  mine,  — 
To  lie  so  near  to  thine, 
And  yet  forever  and  forever  to  lie  still ! 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS. 


WHAT    THE    SEA    SAYS    TO    THE    SHORE. 
(FLOOD-TIDE.) 

SWEET! 
I  kiss  thy  feet. 
It  is  permitted  me 
So  much  to  keep  of  thee, 
So  much  to  give  to  thee. 

Reverently 

I  touch  thy  dusky  garments'  hem. 
Thy  dazzling  feet  lie  bare ; 
But  now  the  moonlit  air, 
In  hurrying  by,  did  gaze  at  them. 

Who  can  guess 

The  temper  of  a  love  denied  ? 
See  !  to  my  lips  I  press,  — 


346     WHAT  THE  SEA   SAYS   TO    THE  SHORE. 

I  press  and  hide 

Thy  sweet 
Sad  feet, 
And  cover  them  from  sight  of  all  the  world. 

Till  thou  and  I  were  riven  apart, 
Never  was  it  known 
By  any  one 

That  storms  could  tear  an  ocean's  heart ; 
Nor  shall  it  be  again 
That  storms  can  cause  an  ocean  pain. 

But  when  He  said,  — 
"  No  farther,  thus  far,  shalt  thou  go, 
And  here, 
.In  fear, 

Shall  thy  proud  waves  be  stayed,"  — 
Raging,  rebel,  and  afraid, 
What  could  shore  or  ocean  do  ? 

Fling  down  thy  long,  loose  hair 

For  a  little  share 
Of  the  little  kiss  I  still  may  bring  to  thee. 

O  Love  !  turn  to  me. 
The  hours  are  short  that  I  may  be 

Rich,  though  so  scantily, 
Blest,  although  so  broken-hearted. 

Sweet,  my  Love  !  when  we  are  parted, 
When  unheard  orders  bid  me  go, 
Obedient  to  an  unknown  Wijl, 
The  pain  of  pains  selects  me  so, 

That  I  must  go,  and  thou  lie  still, 
While  yet  my  lips  may  hunger  near  thy  feet. 
Turn  to  me,  Sweet ! 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS. 


HILDA,  SPINNING.  347 


HILDA,   SPINNING. 

SPINNING,  spinning,  by  the  sea, 
All  the  night ! 

On  a  stormy,  rock-ribbed  shore, 
Where  the  north  winds  downward  pour, 
And  the  tempests  fiercely  sweep 
From  the  mountains  to  the  deep, 
Hilda  spins  beside  the  sea, 
All  the  night. 

Spinning  at  her  lonely  window 

By  the  sea  ! 

With  her  candle  burning  clear 
Every  night  of  all  the  year, 
And  her  sweet  voice  crooning  low 
Quaint  old  songs  of  love  and  woe, 
Spins  she  at  her  lonely  window 

By  the  sea. 

On  a  bitter  night  in  March, 

Long  ago, 

Hilda,  very  young  and  fair, 
With  a  crown  of  golden  hair, 
Watched  the  tempest  raging  wild, 
Watched  the  roaring  sea,  and  smiled 
Through  that  woful  night  in  March, 

Long  ago. 

What  though  all  the  winds  were  out 

In  their  might? 

Richard's  boat  was  tried  and  true ; 
Stanch  and  brave  his  hardy  crew ; 


348  HILDA,   SPINNING. 

Strongest  he  to  do  or  dare. 
Said  she,  breathing  forth  a  prayer, 
"  He  is  safe,  though  winds  are  out 
In  their 


But  at  length  the  morning  dawned 

Still  and  clear. 
Calm,  in  azure  splendor,  lay 
All  the  waters  of  the  bay ; 
And  the  ocean's  angry  moans 
Sank  to  solemn  undertones, 
As  at  last  the  morning  dawned, 

Still  and  clear. 


With  her  waves  of  golden  hair 

Floating  free, 
Hilda  ran  along  the  shore, 
Gazing  off  the  waters  o'er ; 
And  the  fishermen  replied, 
"  He  will  come  in  with  the  tide," 
As  they  saw  her  golden  hair 

Floating  free. 


Ah  !  he  came  in  with  the  tide  — 

Came  alone. 

Tossed  upon  the  shining  sands, 
Ghastly  face  and  clutching  hands, 
Seaweed  tangled  in  his  hair, 
Bruised  and  torn  his  forehead  fair 
Thus  he  came  in  with  the  tide  — 

All  alone. 


HILDA,   SPINNING.  349 

Hilda  watched  beside  her  dead 

Day  and  night. 

Of  those  hours  of  mortal  woe 
Human  ken  may  never  know  : 
She  was  silent ;  and  his  ear 
Kept  the  secret,  close  aiid  dear, 
Of  her  watch  beside  her  dead 

Day  and  night. 


What  she  promised  in  the  darkness, 

Who  can  tell  ? 

But  upon  that  rock-ribbed  shore 
Burns  a  beacon  evermore, 
And  beside  it,  all  the  night, 
Hilda  guards  the  lonely  light ; 
Though  what  vowed  she  in  the  darkness, 

None  may  tell. 

Spinning,  spinning,  by  the  sea, 

All  the  night. 

While  her  candle,  gleaming  wide 
O'er  the  restless,  rolling  tide, 
Guides  with  steady,  changeless  ray, 
The  lone  fisher  up  the  bay, 
Hilda  spins  beside  the  sea 

Through  the  night. 

Fifty  years  of  patient  spinning 

By  the  sea ; 

Old  and  worn,  she  sleeps  to-day, 
While  the  sunshine  gilds  the  bay. 


350  A    GREYPORT  LEGEND. 

But  her  candle,  shining  clear 
Every  night  of  all  the  year, 
Still  is  telling  of  her  spinning 
By  the  sea. 

JL-LJA  C.  R.  DORR. 


A     GREYPOET    LEGEND. 
(I797-) 

THEY  ran  through  the  streets  of  the  seaport  town  ; 
They  peered  from  the  decks  of  the  ships  where  they 

lay : 

The  cold  sea-fog  that  came  whitening  down 
Was  never  as  cold  or  white  as  they. 

"  Ho,  Starbuck  and  Pinckney  and  Tenterden ! 
Run  for  your  shallops,  gather  your  men, 
Scatter  your  boats  on  the  lower  bay  !  " 

Good  cause  for  fear  !     In  the  thick  mid-day, 

The  hulk  that  lay  by  the  rotting  pier, 
Filled  with  children  in  happy  play, 

Parted  its  moorings,  and  drifted  clear,  — 

Drifted  clear  beyond  reach  or  call : 
Thirteen  children  there  were  in  all  — 
All  adrift  in  the  lower  bay  ! 

Said  a  hard-faced  skipper,  "  God  help  us  all ! 

She  will  not  float  till  the  turning  tide." 
Said  his  wife,  "  My  darling  will  hear  my  call, 
Whether  in  sea  or  heaven  she  bide." 

And  she  lifted  a  quavering  voice  and  high, 
Wild  and  strange  as  a  sea-bird's  cry, 

Till  they  shuddered  and  wondered  at  her  side. 


EBB-TIDE.  351 

The  fog  drove  down  on  each  laboring  crew, 

Veiled  each  from  each,  and  the  sky  and  shore  : 
There  was  not  a  sound  but  the  breath  they  drew, 
And  the  lap  of  water  and  creak  of  oar ; 

And  they  felt  the  breath  of  the  downs,  fresh  blown 
O'er  leagues  of  clover  and  cold  gray  stone, 
But  not  from  the  lips  that  had  gone  before. 

They  came  no  more.     But  they  tell  the  tale, 

That,  when  fogs  are  thick  on  the  harbor-reef, 
The  mackerel-fishers  shorten  sail ; 

For  the  signal  they  know  will  bring  relief: 

For  the  voices  of  children  still  at  play 
In  a  phantom  hulk  that  drifts  alway 

Through  channels  whose  waters  never  fail. 


It  is  but  a  foolish  shipman's  tale, 

A  theme  for  a  poet's  idle  page ; 
But  still,  when  the  mists  of  doubt  prevail, 

And  we  lie  becalmed  by  the  shores  of  age, 
We  hear  from  the  misty,  troubled  shore, 
The  voices  of  children  gone  before, 
Drawing  the  soul  to  its  anchorage. 

BRET  HARTE. 


EBB-TIDE. 

WITH  her  white  face  full  of  agony, 
Under  her  dripping  locks, 
I  hear  the  wretched,  restless  Sea 
Complaining  to  the  rocks. 


352  FROM  "EACH  AND  ALL." 

Helplessly  in  her  great  despair 

She  shudders  on  the  sand, 
The  bright  weeds  dropping  from  her  hair, 

And  the  pale  shells  from  her  hand. 

Tis  pitiful  thus  to  see  her  lie 

With  her  beating,  heaving  breast, 
Here,  where  she  fell  when  cast  aside, 

Sobbing  herself  to  rest. 

Alas,  alas  for  the  foolish  Sea  ! 

Why  was  there  none  to  say, 
"  The  wave  that  strikes  on  the  heartless  stone 

Must  break,  and  fall  away  "? 

Why  could  she  not  have  known  that  this 

Would  be  her  fate  at  length  ? 
For  the  hand  unheld  must  slip  at  last, 

Though  it  cling  with  love's  own  strength. 

PHCEBE  GARY. 


FROM    "EACH    AND    ALL." 

THE  delicate  shells  lay  on  the  shore ; 
The  bubbles  of  the  latest  wave 
Fresh  pearls  to  their  enamel  gave  ; 
And  the  bellowing  of  the  savage  sea 
Greeted  their  safe  escape  to  me. 
I  wiped  away  the  weeds  and  foam, 
I  fetched  my  sea-born  treasures  home ; 
But  the  poor,  unsightly,  noisome  things 
Had  left  their  beauty  on  the  shore, 
With  the  sun  and  the  sand,  and  the  wild  uproar. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


THE  LADY  OF  CASTELNORE.  353 


THE    LADY    OF    CASTELNORE 


T)RETAGNE  had  not  her  peer.     In  the  province  far 

J3  or  near 

There  were   never  such  brown  tresses,  such  a  faultless 

hand : 
She  had  youth,  and  she  had  gold;  she   had  jewels  all 

untold ; 
And  many  a  lover  bold  wooed  the  Lady  of  the  Land. 

n. 

But  she  with  queenliest  grace  bent  low  her  pallid  face, 
And  "Woo  me  not,  for  Jesus'  sake,  fair  gentlemen,"  she 

said. 
If  they  wooed,  then  with  a  frown  she  would  strike  their 

passion  down  : 
She  might  have  wed  a  crown  to  the  ringlets  on  her  head. 

in. 
From  the  dizzy  castle-tips,  hour  by  hour  she  watched  the 

ships, 

Like  sheeted  phantoms  coming  and  going  evermore, 
While  the  twilight  settled  down  on  the  sleepy  seaport  town, 
On  gables  peaked  and  brown,  that  had  sheltered  kings 

of  yore. 

IV. 

Dusky  belts  of  cedar-wood  partly  clasped  the  widening 

flood ; 

Like  a  knot  of  daisies  lay  the  hamlets  on  the  hill ; 
In  the  hostlery  below  sparks  of  light  would  come  and  go, 
And  faint  voices,  strangely  low,  from  the  garrulous  old 

mill. 


354  THE  LADY  OF  CASTELNORE. 

V. 

Here  the  land  in  grassy  swells  gently  broke ;  there  sunk 

in  dells 
With  mosses  green  and  purple,  and  prongs  of  rock  and 

peat; 
Here,  in  statue-like  repose,  an  old  wrinkled  mountain 

rose, 
With  its  hoary  head  in  snows,  and  wild-roses  at  its  feet. 

VI. 

And  so  oft  she  sat  alone  in  the  turret  of  gray  stone, 
And  looked  across  the  moorland,  so  woful,  to  the  sea, 
That  there  grew  a  village-cry,  how  her  cheek  did  lose  its 

dye 
As  a  ship,  once  sailing  by,  faded  on  the  sapphire  lea. 

vrr. 

Her  few  walks  led  all  one  way,  and  all  ended  at  the 

gray 

And  ragged,  jagged  rocks  that  fringe  the  lonely  beach : 
There  she  would  stand,  the  Sweet,  with  the  white  surf  at 

her  feet, 
While  above  her  wheeled  the  fleet  sparrow-hawk  with 

startling  screech. 

vm. 

And  she  ever  loved  the  sea,  with  its  haunting  mystery, 
Its  whispering,  weird  voices,  its  never-ceasing  roar ; 
And  'twas  well,  that,  when  she  died,  they  made  her  a  grave 

beside 
The  blue  pulses  of  the  tide,  by  the  towers  of  Castelnore. 


IS  MY  LOVER  ON  THE  SEA?  355 

IX. 

Now,  one  chill  November  morn,  many  russet  autumns 

gone, 

A  strange  ship  with  folded  wings  lay  dozing  off  the  lea : 
It  had  lain  throughout  the  night,  with  its  wings  of  murky 

white 
Folded,  after  weary  flight,  —  the  worn  nursling  of  the  sea. 

x. 

Crowds  of  peasants  flocked  the  sands ;  there  were  tears 
and  clasping  hands  ; 

And  a  sailor  from  the  ship  stalked  through  the  church- 
yard gate. 

Then,  amid  the  grass  that^  crept,  fading,  over  her  who 
slept, 

How  he  hid  his  face,  and  wept,  crying,  "Late,  alas  !  too 
late!" 

XI. 

And  they  called  her  cold.    God  knows.  .  .  .  Underneath 

the  winter  snows 

The  invisible  hearts  of  flowers  grow  'ripe  for  blossoming. 
And  the  lives  that  look  so  cold,  if  their  stories  could  be 

told, 
Would  seem  cast  in  gentler  mould,  would  seem  full  of 

love  and  spring. 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH. 


IS    MY    LOVER    ON    THE    SEA? 

IS  my  lover  on  the  sea, 
Sailing  east,  or  sailing  west? 
Mighty  Ocean,  gentle  be  j 
Rock  him  into  rest ! 


356  A    WIND  FROM   THE  SEA. 

Let  no  angry  wind  arise, 

Nor  a  wave  with  whitened  crest ; 

All  be  gentle  as  his  eyes 
When  he  is  caressed  ! 


Bear  him  (as  the  breeze  above 
Bears  the  bird  unto  his  nest) 

Here,  unto  his  home  of  love, 
And  then  bid  him  rest ! 

BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 


A    WIND    FROM    THE    SEA. 

THE  wind  from  the  sea  was  blowing, 
My  face  was  wet  with  the  spray : 
It  kept  the  tears  from  showing ; 

So  I  let  them  have  their  way. 
Oh  !  they  were  salt  and  bitter ; 

But  it  mattered  nothing  to  you. 
When  the  foam,  with  its  rainbow  glitter, 

Crested  the  hills  of  blue, 
And  the  white  sails,  spread  for  flying, 

Beckoned  your  restless  mind, 
What  was  the  idle  crying 

Of  a  girl  that  must  stay  behind? 

I  knew  that  your  heart  was  leaping 
Like  the  flame  of  a  kindling  fire ; 

But  mine  in  its  depths  was  keeping 
One  passionate,  dumb  desire,  — 

Oh  that  a  bolt  from  heaven 


A    WIND  FROM  THE  SEA.  357 

Two  at  a  blow  would  smite  ! 
Oh  that  the  earth  were  riven, 

To  bury  us  both  out  of  sight ! 
For  what  was  the  light  and  splendor 

Of  summer  skies  to  me  ? 
And  what  could  the  green  earth  render 

In  recompense  for  the  sea? 

You  sailed  away  in  the  morning, 

And  your  heart  was  light  as  air : 
It  was  full  of  a  merry  scorning 

For  my  unconcealed  despair. 
Easy  for  you  to  kiss  me, 

To  swear  that  my  fears  were  vain, 
And  your  fond  desire  would  miss  me 

Till  the  hour  when  you  came  again. 
But  I  perfectly  comprehended 

The  things  that  you  never  said, 
And  I  knew  the  story  was  ended 

As  surely  as  if  you  were  dead. 

It  is  long  since  we  two  parted, 

With  kisses,  upon  the  shore  ; 
And  lonely  and  broken-hearted, 

I  knew  you  would  come  no  more. 
Time  has  brought  tender  healing 

For  the  bitter  grief  gone  by, 
With  a  gradual,  sweet  revealing 

Of  love  that  was  not  a  lie. 
Yet  none  the  less  I  remember ; 

And  still  a  wind  from  the  sea 
Rekindles  the  smouldering  ember 

Of  passionate  pain  in  me. 

MARY  E.  BRADLEY. 


358  THE  PIMPERNEL. 

THE    PIMPERNEL. 

SHE  walks  beside  the  silent  shore  : 
The  tide  is  high,  the  breeze  is  still ; 
No  ripple  breaks  the  ocean-floor, 
The  sunshine  sleeps  upon  the  hill. 

The  turf  is  warm  beneath  her  feet, 

Bordering  the  beach  of  stone  and  shell ; 

And  thick  about  her  path  the  sweet 
Red  blossoms  of  the  pimpernel. 

"  Oh,  sleep  not  yet,  my  flower  !  "  she  cries, 
"  Nor  prophesy  of  storm  to  come  : 

Tell  me  that  under  steadfast  skies 

Fair  winds  shall  bring  my  lover  home." 

She  stoops  to  gather  flower  and  shell ; 

She  sits,  and  smiling,  studies  each  ; 
She  hears  the  full  tide  rise  and  swell, 

And  whisper  softly  on  the  beach. 

Waking,  she  dreams  a  golden  dream, 
Remembering  with  what  still  delight, 

To  watch  the  sunset's  fading  gleam, 

Here  by  the  waves  they  stood  last  night. 

She  leans  on  that  encircling  arm, 
Divinely  strong  with  power  to  draw 

Her  nature,  as  the  moon  doth  charm 
The  swaying  sea  with  heavenly  law. 

All  lost  in  bliss  the  moments  glide ; 
She  feels  his  whisper,  his  caress : 


THE  PIMPERNEL.  359 

The  murmur  of  the  mustering  tide 
Brings  her  no  presage  of  distress. 

What  breaks  her  dream  ?     She  lifts  her  eyes, 

Reluctant  to  destroy  the  spell : 
The  color  from  her  bright  cheek  dies  — 

Close  folded  is  the  pimpernel. 

With  rapid  glance  she  scans  the  sky ; 

Rises  a  sudden  wind,  and  grows, 
And,  charged  with  storm,  the  cloud-heaps  lie  — 

Well  may  the  scarlet  blossoms  close  ! 

A  touch,  and  bliss  is  turned  to  bale  ; 

Life  only  keeps  the  sense  of  pain  : 
The  world  holds  nought  save  one  white  sail 

Flying  before  the  wind  and  rain. 

Broken  upon  the  wheel  of  fear, 

She  wears  the  storm-vexed  hour  away ; 

And  now  in  gold  and  fire  draws  near 
The  sunset  of  her  troubled  day. 

But  to  her  sky  is  yet  denied 

The  sun  that  lights  the  world  for  her : 

She  sweeps  the  rose-flushed  ocean  wide 
With  eager  eyes  the  quick  tears  blur ; 

And  lonely,  lonely,  all  the  space 

Stretches,  with  never  sign  of  sail ; 
And  sadder  grows  her  wistful  face, 

And  all  the  sunset  splendors  fail. 


360  SONNET. 

And  cold  and  pale,  in  still  despair, 

With  heavier  grief  than  tongue  can  tell, 

She  sinks,  upon  her  lips  a  prayer, 
Her  cheek  against  the  pimpernel. 

Bright  blossoms  wet  with  showery  tears 
On  her  shut  eyes  their  droplets  shed ; 

Only  the  wakened  waves  she  hears, 
That  singing  drown  his  rapid  tre'ad. 

"  Sweet,  I  am  here  ! "  Joy's  gates  swing  wide, 
And  heaven  is  theirs,  and  all  is  well ; 

And  left  beside  the  ebbing  tide, 
Forgotten,  is  the  pimpernel. 

CELIA  THAXTER. 


SONNET. 
(SEA-SHELL  MURMURS.) 

THE  hollow  sea-shell,  which  for  years  hath  stood 
On  dusty  snelves,  when  held  against  the  ear 
Proclaims  its  stormy  parent,  and  we  hear 
The  faint,  far  murmur  of  the  breaking  flood. 
We  hear  the  sea.     The  sea?     It  is  the  blood 
In  our  own  veins,  impetuous  and  near, 
And  pulses  keeping  pace  with  hope  and  fear, 
And  with  our  feelings'  ever  shifting  mood. 
Lo  !  in  my  heart  I  hear,  as  in  a  shell, 
The  murmur  of  a  world  beyond  the  grave, 
Distinct,  distinct,  though  faint  and  far  it  be. 
Thou  fool !  this  echo  is  a  cheat  as  well, 
The  hum  of  earthly  instincts  ;  and  we  crave 
A  world  unreal  as  the  shell-heard  sea. 

EUGENE  LEE  HAMILTON. 


THE  SEA-LIMITS.  361 

THE    SEA-LIMITS. 

/CONSIDER  the  sea's  listless  chime  : 
V_y    Time's  self  it  is  made  audible, 
The  murmur  of  the  earth's  own  shell. 
Secret  continuance  sublime 
Is  the  sea's  end  :  our  sight  may  pass 
No  furlong  farther.     Since  time  was, 
This  sound  hath  told  the  lapse  of  time. 

No  quiet,  which  is  death's,  —  it  hath 
The  mournfulness  of  ancient  life, 
Enduring  always  at  dull  strife. 
As  the  world's  heart  of  rest  and  wrath, 
Its  painful  pulse  is  in  the  sands. 
Last  utterly,  the  whole  sky  stands, 
Gray  and  not  known,  along  its  path. 

Listen  alone  beside  the  sea, 

Listen  alone  among  the  woods  : 

Those  voices  of  twin-solitudes 

Shall  have  one  sound  alike  to  thee. 

Hark  where  the  murmurs  of  thronged  men 

Surge  and  sink  back,  and  surge  again,  — 

Still  the  one  voice  of  wave  and  tree. 

Gather  a  shell  from  the  strown  beach, 
And  listen  at  its  lips  :  they  sigh 
The  same  desire  and  mystery, 
The  echo  of  the  whole  sea's  speech. 
And  all  mankind  is  thus  at  heart 
Not  any  thing  but  what  thou  art ; 
And  earth,  sea,  man,  are  all  in  each. 

DANTE  GABRIEL  ROSSETTI. 


362  THE  MARINER'S  CAVE. 

THE    MARINER'S    CAVE. 

ONCE  on  a  time  there  walked  a  mariner, 
That  had  been  shipwrecked,  on  a  lonely  shore ; 
And  the  green  water  made  a  restless  stir, 

And  a  great  flock  of  mews  spread  on  before. 
He  had  nor  food  nor  shelter ;  for  the  tide 
Rose  on  the  one,  and  cliffs  on  the  other  side. 

Brown  cliffs  they  were  :  they  seemed  to  pierce  the  sky, 
That  was  an  awful  deep  of  empty  blue, 

Save  that  the  wind  was  in  it,  and  on  high 

A  wavering  skein  of  wild-fowl  tracked  it  through. 

He  marked  them  not,  but  went  with  movement  slow, 

Because  his  thoughts  were  sad,  his  courage  low. 

His  heart  was  numb  :  he  neither  wept  nor  sighed, 

But  wearifully  lingered  by  the  wave, 
Until  at  length  it  chanced  that  he  espied, 

Far  up,  an  opening  in  the  cliff,  a  cave, 
A  shelter  where  to  sleep  in  his  distress, 
And  lose  his  sorrow  in  forgetfulness. 

With  that  he  clambered  up  the  rugged  face 
Of  that  steep  cliff  that  all  in  shadow  lay ; 

And,  lo  !  there  was  a  dry  and  homelike  place, 
Comforting  refuge  for  the  castaway ; 

And  he  laid  down  his  weary,  weary  head, 

And  took  his  fill  of  sleep  till  dawn  waxed  red. 

When  he  awoke,  warm  stirring  from  the  south 
Of  delicate  summer  air  did  sough  and  flow : 

He  rose,  and,  wending  to  the  cavern's  mouth, 
He  cast  his  eyes  a  little  way  below, 


THE  MARINER'S   CAVE.  363 

Where,  on  the  narrow  ledges,  sharp  and  rude, 
Preening  their  wings,  the  blue  rock-pigeons  cooed. 


Then  he  looked  lower,  and  saw  the  lavender 
And  sea-thrift  blooming  in  long  crevices ; 

And  the  brown  wall-flower,  April's  messenger,  — 
The  wall-flower  marshalled  in  her  companies. 

Then  lower  yet  he  looked  adown  the  steep, 

And  sheer  beneath  him  lapped  the  lovely  deep, 

The  laughing  deep  ;  and  it  was  pacified 
As  if  it  had  not  raged  that  other  day ; 

And  it  went  murmuring  in  the  morning-tide 
Innumerable  flatteries  on  its  way, 

Kissing  the  cliffs,  and  whispering  at  their  feet 

With  exquisite  advancement  and  retreat. 


This  when  the  mariner  beheld,  he  sighed, 
And  thought  on  his  companions  lying  low. 

But  while  he  gazed,  with  eyes  unsatisfied, 
On  the  fair  reaches  of  their  overthrow, 

Thinking  it  strange  he  only  lived  of  all, 

But  not  returning  thanks,  he  heard  a  call, 


A  soft  sweet  call,  a  voice  of  tender  ruth  : 

He  thought  it  came  from  out  the  cave.     And,  lo  ! 

It  whispered,  "  Man,  look  up  !  "     But  he,  forsooth, 
Answered,  "  I  cannot ;  for  the  long  waves  flow 

Across  my  gallant  ship,  where  sunk  she  lies 

With  all  my  riches  and  my  merchandise. 


364  THE  MARINERS   CAVE. 

"  Moreover,  I  am  heavy  for  the  fate 

Of  these  my  mariners  drowned  in  the  deep : 

I  must  lament  me  for  their  sad  estate 

Now  they  are  gathered  in  their  last  long  sleep. 

Oh,  the  unpitying  heavens  upon  me  frown  ! 

Then  how  should  I  look  up?     I  must  look  down." 

And  he  stood  yet  watching  the  fair  green  sea 
Till  hunger  reached  him  ;  then  he  made  a  fire, 

A  driftwood  fire,  and  wandered  listlessly, 
And  gathered  many  eggs  at  his  desire, 

And  dressed  them  for  his  meal ;  and  then  he  lay 

And  slept,  and  woke  upon  the  second  day. 

When  as  he  said,  "  The  cave  shall  be  my  home  : 
None  will  molest  me,  for  the  brown  cliffs  rise 

Like  castles  of  defence  behind,  the  foam 
Of  the  remorseless  sea  beneath  me  lies ; 

Tis-easy  from  the  cliff  my  food  to  win, 

The  nations  of  the  rock-dove  breed  therein. 

"  For  fuel,  at  the  ebb  yon  fair  expanse 

Is  strewed  with  driftwood  by  the  breaking  wave, 

And  in  the  sea  is  fish  for  sustenance. 
I  will  build  up  the  entrance  to  the  cave, 

And  leave  therein  a  window  and  a  door, 

And  here  will  dwell,  and  leave  it  nevermore." 

Then  even  so  he  did ;  and  when  his  task, 
Many  long  days  being  over,  was  complete, 

When  he  had  eaten,  as  he  sat  to  bask 
In  the  red  firelight  glowing  at  his  feet, 

He  was  right  glad  of  shelter,  and  he  said, 

"  Now  for  my  comrades  am  I  comforted." 


THE  MARINER'S  CAVE.  365 

Then  did  the  voice  awake,  and  speak  again  : 

It  murmured,  "  Man,  look  up."     But  he  replied, 

"  I  cannot.     Oh  !  mine  eyes,  mine  eyes  are  fain 
Down  on  the  red-wood  ashes  to  abide, 

Because  they  warm  me."     Then  the  voice  was  still, 

And  left  the  lonely  mariner  to  his  will. 

And  soon  it  came  to  pass  that  he  got  gain. 

He  had  great  flocks  of  pigeons  which  he  fed, 
And  drew  great  store  of  fish  from  out  the  main, 

And  down  from  eider-ducks  ;  and  then  he  said, 
"  It  is  not  good  that  I  should  lead  my  life 
In  silence  :  I  will  take  to  me  a  wife." 

He  took  a  wife,  and  brought  her  home  to  him ; 

And  he  was  good  to  her,  and  cherished  her, 
So  that  she  loved  him  ;  then,  when  light  waxed  dim, 

Gloom  came  no  more ;  and  she  would  minister 
To  all  his  wants ;  while  he,  being  well  content, 
Counted  her  company  right  excellent. 

But  once  as  on  the  lintel  of  the  door 

She  leaned  to  watch  him  while  he  put  to  sea, 

This  happy  wife,  down-gazing  at  the  shore, 
Said  sweetly,  "  It  is  better  now  with  me 

Than  it  was  lately  when  I  used  to  spin 

In  my  old  father's  house  beside  the  lin." 

And  then  the  soft  voice  of  the  cave  awoke, 
The  soft  voice  which  had  haunted  it  erewhile, 

And  gently  to  the  wife  it  also  spoke, 

"Woman,  look  up  !  "     But  she,  with  tender  guile, 

Gave  it  denial,  answering,  "  Nay,  not  so  ; 

For  all  that  I  should  look  on  lieth  below. 


366  THE  MARINER'S  CAVE. 

"  The  great  sky  overhead  is  not  so  good 
For  my  two  eyes  as  yonder  stainless  sea, 

The  source  and  yielder  of  our  livelihood, 
Where  rocks  his  little  boat  that  loveth  me." 

This  when  the  wife  had  said,  she  moved  away, 

And  looked  no  higher  than  the  wave  all  day. 

Now  when  the  year  ran  out,  a  child  she  bore, 
And  there  was  such  rejoicing  in  the  cave 

As  surely  never  had  there  been  before 

Since  God  first  made  it.     Then  full,  sweet,  and  grave, 

The  voice,  "  God's  utmost  blessing  brims  thy  cup : 

O  father  of  this  child,  look  up,  look  up  ! " 

"  Speak  to  my  wife,"  the  mariner  replied. 

"  I  have  much  work,  right  welcome  work,  'tis  true,  — 
Another  mouth  to  feed."     And  then  it  sighed, 

"  Woman,  look  up  !  "     She  said,  "  Make  no  ado ; 
For  I  must  needs  look  down  on  anywise  : 
My  heaven  is  in  the  blue  of  these  4ear  eyes." 

The  seasons  of  the  year  did  swiftly  whirl ; 

They  measured  time  by  one  small  life  alone  : 
On  such  a  day  the  pretty  pushing  pearl 

That  mouth  they  loved  to  kiss  had  sweetly  shown ; 
That  smiling  mouth,  and  it  had  made  essay 
To  give  them  names  on  such  another  day. 

And  afterward  his  infant  history,  — 

Whether  he  played  with  bawbles  on  the  floor, 

Or  crept  to  pat  the  rock-doves  pecking  nigh, 
And  feeding  on  the  threshold  of  the  door, 

They  loved  to  mark,  and  all  his  marvellings  dim, 

The  mysteries  that  beguiled  and  baffled  him. 


THE  MARINER'S  CAYE.  367 

He  was  so  sweet,  that  oft  his  mother  said, 
"  O  child  !  how  was  it  that  I  dwelt  content 

Before  thou  earnest  ?     Blessings  on  thy  head  ! 
Thy  pretty  talk  it  is  so  innocent, 

That  oft,  for  all  my  joy,  though  it  be  deep, 

When  thou  art  prattling,  I  am  like  to  weep." 

Summer  and  winter  spent  themselves  again  ; 

The  rock-doves  in  their  season  bred ;  the  cliff 
Grew  sweet,  for  every  cliff  would  entertain 

Its  tuft  of  blossom  ;  and  the  mariner's  skiff, 
Early  and  late,  would  linger  in  the  bay, 
Because  the  sea  was  calm,  and  winds  away. 

The  little  child,  about  that  rocky  height 

Led  by  her  loving  hand  who  gave  him  birth, 

Might  wander  in  the  clear,  unclouded  light, 
And  take  his  pastime  in  the  beauteous  earth, 

Smell  the  fair  flowers  in  stony  cradles  swung, 

And  see  God's  happy  creatures  feed  their  young. 

And  once  it  came  to  pass,  at  eventide 

His  mother  set  him  in  the  cavern-door, 
And  filled  his  lap  with  grain,  and  stood  aside 

To  watch  the  circling  rock-doves  soar  and  soar, 
Then  dip,  alight,  and  run  in  circling  bands 
To  take  the  barley  from  his  open  hands. 

And  even  while  she  stood  and  gazed  at  him, 
And  his  grave  father's  eyes  upon  him  dwelt, 

They  heard  the  tender  voice,  and  it  was  dim, 
And  seemed  full  softly  in  the  air  to  melt : 

"  Father,"  it  murmured,  "  mother,"  dying  away, 

"  Look  up  while  yet  the  hours  are  called  to-day." 


368  THE  MARINER'S  CAVE. 

"  I  will,"  the  father  answered,  "  but  not  now  :  " 
The  mother  said,  "  Sweet  voice,  oh,  speak  to  me 

At  a  convenient  season  !  "     And  the  brow 
Of  the  cliff  began  to  quake  right  fearfully : 

There  was  a  rending  crash,  and  there  did  leap 

A  riven  rock,  and  plunge  into  the  deep. 

They  said,  "  A  storm  is  coming ;  "  but  they  slept 

That  night  in  peace,  and  thought  the  storm  had  passed, 

For  there  was  not  a  cloud  to  intercept 
The  sacred  moonlight  on  the  cradle  cast ; 

And  to  his  rocking  boat,  at  dawn  of  day, 

With  joy  of  heart  the  manner  took  his  way. 

But  when  he  mounted  up  the  path  at  night, 
Foreboding  not  of  trouble  or  mischance, 

His  wife  came  out  into  the  fading  light, 
And  met  him  with  a  serious  countenance ; 

And  she  broke  out  in  tears  and  sobbings  thick, 

"The  child  is  sick,  my  little  child  is  sick." 

They  knelt  beside  him  in  the  sultry  dark  ; 

And  when  the  moon  looked  in,  his  face  was  pale ; 
And  when  the  red  sun,  like  a  burning  bark, 

Rose  in  a  fog  at  sea,  his  tender  wail 
Sank  deep  into  their  hearts,  and  piteously 
They  fell  to  chiding  of  their  destiny. 

The  doves  unheeded  cooed  that  livelong  day, 
Their  pretty  playmate  cared  for  them  no  more ; 

The  sea-thrift  nodded,  wet  with  glistening  spray, 
None  gathered  it ;  the  long  wave  washed  the  shore. 

He  did  not  know,  nor  lift  his  eyes  to  trace 

The  new-fallen  shadow  in  his  dwelling-place. 


THE  MARINERS   CAVE.  369 

The  sultry  sun  beat  on  the  cliffs  all  day, 

And  hot,  calm  airs  slept  on  the  polished  sea : 

The  mournful  mother  wore  her  time  away, 
Bemoaning  of  her  helpless  misery, 

Pleading  and  plaining,  till  the  day  was  done, 

"  Oh,  look  on  me,  my  love,  my  little  one  ! 

"  What  aileth  thee,  that  thou  dost  lie  and  moan  ? 

Ah,  would  that  I  might  bear  it  in  thy  stead  !  " 
The  father  made  not  his  forebodings  known, 

But  gazed,  and  in  his  secret  soul  he  said, 
"  I  may  have  sinned,  on  sin  waits  punishment ; 
But  as  for  him,  sweet  blameless  innocent, 

"  What  has  he'  done  that  he  is  stricken  down  ? 

Oh  !  it  is  hard  to  see  him  sink  and  fade, 
When  I,  that  counted  him  my  dear  life's  crown, 

So  willingly  have  worked  while  he  has  played ; 
That  he  might  sleep,  have  risen,  come  storm,  come  heat, 
And  thankfully  would  fast,  that  he  might  eat." 

My  God,  how  short  our  happy  days  appear  ! 

How  long  the  sorrowful !     They  thought  it  long, 
The  sultry  morn  that  brought  such  evil  cheer, 

And  sat,  and  wished,  and  sighed  for  even-song : 
It  came,  and  cooling  wafts  about  him  stirred ; 
Yet  when  they  spoke  he  answered  not  a  word. 

"  Take  heart !  "  they  cried  ;  but  their  sad  hearts  sank  low 
When  he  would  moan,  and  turn  his  restless  head ; 

And  wearily  the  lagging  morns  would  go, 

And  nights,  while  they  sat  watching  by  his  bed, 

Until  a  storm  came  up  with  wind  and  rain, 

And  lightning  ran  along  the  troubled  main. 


37°  THE  MARINERS   CATE. 

Over  their  heads  the  mighty  thunders  brake, 
Leaping  and  tumbling  down  from  rock  to  rock, 

Then  burst  anew,  and  made  the  cliffs  to  quake 
As  they  were  living  things,  and  felt  the  shock ; 

The  waiting  sea  to  sob  as  if  in  pain, 

And  all  the  midnight  vault  to  ring  again. 

A  lamp  was  burning  in  the  mariner's  cave, 
But  the  blue  lightning-flashes  made  it  dim ; 

And,  when  the  mother  heard  those  thunders  rave, 
She  took  her  little  child  to  cherish  him  ; 

She  took  him  in  her  arms,  and  on  her  breast 

Full  wearily  she  courted  him  to  rest, 

And  soothed  him  long  until  the  storm  was  spent, 
And  the  last  thunder-peal  had  died  away, 

And  stars  were  out  in  all  the  firmament ; 

Then  did  he  cease  to  moan,  and  slumbering  lay, 

While  in  the  welcome  silence,  pure  and  deep, 

The  care-worn  parents  sweetly  fell  asleep. 

And  in  a  dream  inwrought  with  fancies  thick, 

The  mother  thought  she  heard  the  rock-doves  coo, 

*(She  had  forgotten  that  her  child  was  sick,) 

And  she  went  forth  their  morning  meal  to  strew ; 

Then  over  all  the  cliff  with  earnest  care 

She  sought  her  child ;  and,  lo  !  he  was  not  there. 

But  she  was  not  afraid,  though  long  she  sought, 
And  climbed  the  cliff,  and  set  her  feet  in  grass, 

Then  reached  a  river,  broad  and  full,  she  thought ; 
And  at  its  brink  he  sat.     Alas,  alas  ! 

For  one  stood  near  him,  fair  and  undefiled, 

An  innocent,  a  marvellous  man-child. 


THE  MARINERS   CAVE.  371 

In  garments  white  as  wool,  and,  oh  !  most  fair, 
A  rainbow  covered  him  with  mystic  light ; 

Upon  the  warmed  grass  his  feet  were  bare, 
And  as  he  breathed,  the  rainbow  in  her  sight 

In  passions  of  clear  crimson  trembling  lay, 

With  gold  and  violet  mist  made  fair  the  day. 

Her  little  life  !  she  thought  his  little  hands 
WTere  full  of  flowers  that  he  did  play  withal ; 

But  when  he  saw  the  boy  o'  the  golden  lands, 
And  looked  him  in  the  face,  he  let  them  fall, 

Held,  through  a  rapturous  pause,  iii  wistful  wise 

To  the  sweet  strangeness  of  those  keen  child-eyes. 

"  Ah,  dear  and  awful  God,  who  chastenest  me  ! 

How  shall  my  soul  to  this  be  reconciled  ? 
It  is  the  Saviour  of  the  world,"  quoth  she  ; 

"And  to  my  child  he  cometh  as  a  child." 
Then  on  her  knees  she  fell  by  that  vast  stream  — 
Oh,  it  was  sorrowful,  this  woman's  dream. 

For,  lo  !  that  Elder  Child  drew  nearer  now, 
Fair  as  the  light,  and  purer  than  the  sun. 

The  calms  of  heaven  were  brooding  on  his  brow, 
And  in  his  arms  he  took  her  little  one, 

Her  child,  that  knew  her,  but  with  sweet  demur 

Drew  back,  nor  held  his  hands  to  come  to  her. 

With  that  in  mother-misery  sore  she  wept,  — 
"  O  Lamb  of  God,  I  love  my  child  so  MUCH  ! 

He  stole  away  to  thee  while  we  two  slept, 
But  give  him  back,  for  thou  hast  many  such ; 

And  as  for  me  I  have  but  one.     Oh  !  deign, 

Dear  pity  of  God,  to  give  him  me  again." 


372  THE  MARINER'S  CAVE. 

His  feet  were  on  the  river.     Oh  !  his  feet 

Had  touched  the  river  now,  and  it  was  great ; 

And  yet  he  hearkened  when  she  did  entreat, 
And  turned  in  quietness,  as  he  would  wait, — 

Wait  till  she  looked  upon  him,  and,  behold  ! 

There  lay  a  long  way  off  a  city  of  gold. 


Like  to  a  jasper  and  a  sardine  stone, 

Whelmed  in  the  rainbow,  stood  that  fair  man-child, 
Mighty  and  innocent,  that  held  her  own, 

And,  as  might  be  his  manner  at  home,  he  smiled ; 
Then,  while  she  looked  and  looked,  the  vision  brake, 
And,  all  amazed,  she  started  up  awake. 


And,  lo  !  her  little  child  was  gone  indeed. 

The  sleep  that  knows  no  waking  he  had  slept, 
Folded  to  heaven's  own  heart ;  in  rainbow  brede 

Clothed  and  made  glad,  while  they  two  mourned  and 

wept ; 

But  in  the  drinking  of  their  bitter  cup 
The  sweet  voice  spoke  once  more,  and  sighed,  "Look 
up  !  " 


They  heard,  and  straightway  answered,  "  Even  so, 
For  what  abides  that  we  should  look  on  here  ? 

The  heavens  are  better  than  this  earth  below  : 
They  are  of  more  account,  and  far  more  dear. 

We  will  look  up  ;  for  all  most  sweet  and  fair, 

Most  pure,  most  excellent,  is  garnered  there." 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


HANNAH  BINDING  SHOES.  373 

HANNAH    BINDING    SHOES. 

POOR  lone  Hannah, 
Sitting  at  the  window,  binding  shoes  ! 
Faded,  wrinkled, 

Sitting,  stitching  in  a  mournful  muse. 
Bright-eyed  beauty  once  was  she, 
When  the  bloom  was  on  the  tree. 

Spring  and  winter, 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes. 

Not  a  neighbor 
Passing  nod  or  answer  will  refuse 

To  her  whisper, 

"  Is  there  from  the  fishers  any  news  ?  " 
Oh  !  her  heart's  adrift,  with  one 
On  an  endless  voyage  gone. 

Night  and  morning, 
Hannah's  at  her  window,  binding  shoes. 

Fair  young  Hannah, 
Ben,  the  sunburnt  fisher,  gayly  wooes : 

Hale  and  clever, 

For  a  willing  heart  and  hand  he  sues. 
May-day  skies  are  all  aglow, 
And  the  waves  are  laughing  so  ! 

For  her  wedding 
Hannah  leaves  her  window  and  her  shoes. 

May  is  passing : 
Mid  the  apple-boughs  a  pigeon  coos. 

Hannah  shudders ; 
For  the  mild  south-wester  mischief  brews. 


374  BY  THE  SEASIDE. 

Round  the  rocks  of  Marblehead, 
Outward  bound,  a  schooner  sped. 

Silent,  lonesome, 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes. 

'Tis  November ; 
Now  no  tear  her  wasted  cheek  bedews. 

From  Newfoundland 
Not  a  sail  returning  will  she  lose, 
Whispering  hoarsely,  "  Fishermen, 
Have  you,  have  you,  heard  of  Ben  ?  " 

Old  with  watching, 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes. 

Twenty  winters 
Bleach  and  tear  the  ragged  shore  she  views ; 

Twenty  seasons  — 

Never  one  has  brought  her  any  news. 
Still  her  dim  eyes  silently 
Chase  the  white  sails  o'er  the  sea. 

Hopeless,  faithful, 
Hannah's  at  the  window,  binding  shoes. 

LUCY  LARCOM. 


BY    THE    SEASIDE. 

THE  sun  is  couched,  the  sea-fowl  gone  to  rest, 
And  the  wild  storm  hath  somewhere  found  a  nest 
Air  slumbers  ;  wave  with  wave  no  longer  strives, 
Only  a  heaving  of  the  deep  survives, 
A  tell-tale  motion  :  soon  will  it  be  laid, 
And  by  the  tide  alone  the  water  swayed. 
Stealthy  withdrawings,  interminglings  mild 
Of  light  with  shade  in  beauty  reconciled,  — 


BY   THE  SEASIDE.  375 

Such  is  the  prospect  far  as  sight  can  range, 

The  soothing  recompense,  the  welcome  change. 

Where  now  the  ships  that  drove  before  the  blast, 

Threatened  by  angry  breakers  as  they  passed, 

And  by  a  train  of  flying  clouds  bemocked, 

Or  in  the  hollow  surge  at  anchor  rocked, 

As  on  a  bed  of  death  ?     Some  lodge  in  peace, 

Saved  by  His  care  who  bade  the  tempest  cease ; 

And  some,  too  heedless  of  past  danger,  court 

Fresh  gales  to  waft  them  to  the  far-orT  port. 

But  near,  or  hanging  sea  and  sky  between, 

Not  one  of  all  those  winged  powers  is  seen, 

Seen  in  her  course,  nor  mid  this  quiet  heard ; 

Yet,  oh  !  how  gladly  would  the  air  be  stirred 

By  some  acknowledgment  of  thanks  and  praise, 

Soft  in  its  temper  as  those  vesper  lays 

Sung  to  the  Virgin  while  accordant  oars 

Urge  the  slow  bark  along  Calabrian  shores ; 

A  sea-born  service  through  the  mountain  felt 

Till  into  one  loved  vision  all  things  melt ; 

Or  like  those  hymns  that  soothe  with  graver  sound 

The  gulfy  coast  of  Norway  iron-bound ; 

And,  from  the  wide  and  open  Baltic,  rise 

With  punctual  care  Lutherian  harmonies. 

Hush,  not  a  voice  is  here  !  but  why  repine, 

Now  wheWthe  star  of  eve  comes  forth  to  shine 

On  British  waters  with  that  look  benign  ? 

Ye  mariners,  that  plough  your  onward  way, 

Or  in  the  haven  rest,  or  sheltering  bay, 

May  silent  thanks  at  least  to  God  be  given 

With  a  full  heart :  "  Our  thoughts  are  heard  in  heaven  !  " 

WILLIAM  WORDSWORTH. 


376  ON  A  BOOK  OF  SEA-MOSSES. 

ON    A    BOOK    OF    SEA-MOSSES    SENT    TO    AN 
EMINENT    ENGLISH    POET. 

TO  him  who  sang  of  Venice,  and  revealed 
How  wealth  and  glory  clustered  in  her  streets, 
And  poised  her  marble  domes  with  wondrous  skill, 
We  send  these  tributes,  plundered  from  the  sea. 
These  many- colored,  variegated  forms 
Sail  to  our  rougher  shores,  and  rise  and  fall 
To  the  deep  music  of  the  Atlantic  wave. 
Such  spoils  we  capture  where  the  rainbows  drop, 
Melting  in  ocean.     Here  are  broideries  strange, 
Wrought  by  the  sea-nymphs  from  their  golden  hair, 
And  wove  by  moonlight.     Gently  turn  the  leaf. 
From  narrow  cells  scooped  in  the  rocks,  we  take 
These  fairy  textures,  lightly  moored  at  morn. 
Down  sunny  slopes,  outstretching  to  the  deep, 
We  roam  at  noon,  and  gather  shapes  like  these. 
Note  now  the  painted  webs  from  verdurous  isles, 
Festooned  and  spangled  in  sea-caves,  and  say 
What  hues  of  land  can  rival  tints  like  those, 
Torn  from  the  scarfs  and  gonfalons  of  kings 
Who  dwell  beneath  the  waters. 

Such  our  gift, 

Culled  from  a  margin  of  the  Western  World, 
And  offered  unto  Genius  in  the  Old.  — 

JAMES  THOMAS  FIELDS. 
SEA-MUSIC. 

IT  comes  to  me  now  in  the  hush  of  the  night, 
While  stars  keep  a  guard  o'er  the  world, 
And  snows  of  the  winter,  whose  pages  of  white 
Like  an  unwritten  scroll  lie  unrolled. 


SLEEP  A  T  SEA.  377 

It  seems  like  a  sweep  of  invisible  hands 
O'er  the  harps  of  the  loved  and  the  lost, 

The  music  of  waves  that  die  on  the  sands, 
So  weary  with  seas  they  have  crossed. 

And  sometimes  I  fancy,  as  night  settles  down 

On  the  terrible  strife,  and  the  roar 
That  breaks  on  the  hearts  and  the  souls  of  the  town, 

Like  billows  that  break  on  the  shore, 
I  hear  the  sweet  voices  call  softly  to  me, 

With  music  that  fills  me  with  calm, 
Prophetic  of  rest,  from  the  depths  of  the  sea, 

That  pacifies  life  like  a  psalm. 

O  June,  flinging  roses  all  over  my  path, 

To  wither  and  fade,  and  to  die  ! 
O  Winter,  whose  beautiful  purity  hath 

Such  swift  wings  to  leave  us,  and  fly  ! 
From  anthem  to  anthem,  from  psalm  unto  song, 

Thy  voice  is  eternal,  O  Sea  ! 
Thy  beauty  undying,  as  years  glide  along, 

From  infinity's  depths  unto  me. 

HELEN  M.  COOKE. 


SLEEP    AT    SEA. 

SOUND  the  deep  waters  : 
Who  shall  sound  that  deep  ? 
Too  short  the  plummet, 

And  the  watchmen  sleep. 
Some  dream  of  effort 

Up  a  toilsome  steep ; 
Some  dream  of  pasture-grounds 
For  harmless  sheep. 


37$  SLEEP  AT  SEA. 

White  shapes  flit  to  and  fro 

From  mast  to  mast ; 
They  feel  the  distant  tempest 

That  nears  them  fast : 
Great  rocks  are  straight  ahead, 

Great  shoals  not  past ; 
They  shout  to  one  another 

Upon  the  blast. 


Oh  !  soft  the  streams  drop  music 

Between  the  hills, 
And  musical  the  birds'  nests 

Beside  those  rills : 
The  nests  are  types  of  home 

Love-hidden  from  ills : 
The  nests  are  types  of  spirits 

Love-music  fills. 


So  dream  the  sleepers, 

Each  man  in  his  place ; 
The  lightning  shows  the  smile 

Upon  each  face  : 
The  ship  is  driving,  driving, 

It  drives  apace  ; 
And  sleepers  smile,  and  spirits 

Bewail  their  case. 


The  lightning  glares  and  reddens 

Across  the  skies; 
It  seems  but  sunset 

To  those  sleeping  eyes. 


SLEEP  AT  SEA.  379 

When  did  the  sun  go  down 

On  such  a  wise  ? 
From  such  a  sunset 

When  shall  day  arise  ? 


"  Wake  !  "  call  the  spirits  : 

But  to  heedless  ears  ; 
They  have  forgotten  sorrows 

And  hopes  and  fears  ; 
They  have  forgotten  perils 

And  smiles  and  tears  : 
Their  dream  has  held  them  long  • 

Long  years  and  years. 

"  Wake  !  "  call  the  spirits  again ; 

But  it  would  take 
A  louder  summons 

To  bid  them  awake. 
Some  dream  of  pleasure 

For  another's  sake ; 
Some  dream,  forgetful 

Of  a  lifelong  ache. 

One  by  one,  slowly, 

Ah,  how  sad  and  slow  ! 
Wailing  and  praying 

The  spirits  rise  and  go,  — 
Clear,  stainless  spirits, 

White,  as  white  as  snow ; 
Pale  spirits,  wailing 

For  an  overthrow. 


380  '  THE  FLORIDA   BEACH. 

One  by  one  flitting, 

Like  a  mournful  bird 
Whose  song  is  tired  at  last, 

For  no  mate  heard. 
The  loving  voice  is  silent, 

The  useless  word ; 
One  by  one  flitting, 

Sick  with  hope  deferred. 

Driving  and  driving, 

The  ship  drives  amain ; 
While  swift  from  mast  to  mast 

Shapes  flit  again,  — 
Flit  silent  as  the  silence 

Where  men  lie  slain  : 
Their  shadow  cast  upon  the  sails 

Is  like  a  stain. 

No  voice  to  call  the  sleepers, 

No  hand  to  raise  : 
They  sleep  to  death  in  dreaming 

Of  length  of  days. 
"  Vanity  of  vanities," 

The  Preacher  says : 
Vanity  is  the  end 

Of  all  their  ways. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 


THE    FLORIDA    BEACH. 

OUR  driftwood  fire  burns  drowsily, 
The  fog  hangs  low  afar ; 
A  thousand  sea-birds,  wild  and  free, 
Hover  above  the  bar ; 


THE  FLORIDA   BEACH.  381 

Our  boat  is  drawn  far  up  the  strand, 
Beyond  the  tide's  long  reach ; 
Like  fringing  to  the  olive  land 
Shines  the  silvery  Florida  beach. 


Behind,  the  broad  pine-barrens  lie 

Without  a  path  or  trail ; 
Before,  the  ocean  meets  the  sky 

Without  a  rock  or  sail : 
We  call  across  to  Africa ; 

The  waves  from  mile  to  mile 
Bear  on  the  hail  from  Florida, 
And  the  answering  cry  of  the  Nile. 

Far  to  the  south  the  beach  shines  on, 
Thick  gemmed  with  giant  shells, 

Coral-sprays  from  the  white  reef  won, 
Radiant  spiny  cells, 

Glass-like  creatures  that  ride  the  waves 
With  azure  sail  and  oar, 

Wide-mouthed  things  from  the  deep  sea-caves, 

And  the  purple-hued  drift  of  the  shore. 

Wild  ducks  gaze  as  we  pass  along, 
They  have  not  learned  to  fear ; 

The  mocking-bird  keeps  on  his  song 
On  the  palmetto  near ; 

The  slow  stream  from  the  everglade 
Shows  the  alligator's  track ; 

The  sea  is  reft  in  light  and  shade 

By  the  heave  of  the  dolphin's  back. 


382  VOICES   OF  THE  SEA. 

The  Spanish  lighthouse  stands  in  haze, 

The  keeper  trims  his  lights  ; 
No  sail  he  sees  through  the  long,  long  days, 

No  sail  through  the  still,  still  nights ; 
But  ships  that  pass  far  out  at  sea, 

Along  the  warm  Gulf-stream, 
From  isles  of  tropic  Caribbee, 
Keep  a  watch  for  his  far-away  gleam. 

Alone,  alone,  we  wander  through 

The  southern  winter  day; 
The  ocean  spreads  his  mighty  blue, 

The  world  seems  far  away  : 
The  tide  comes  in,  the  birds  fly  low, 

As  if  to  catch  our  speech  — 
Ah,  Fate  !  why  must  we  ever  go 
Away  from  the  Florida  beach? 

CONSTANCE  FENIMORE  WOOLSON. 

VOICES    OF    THE    SEA. 

WAKEFUL  I  lay  at  night,  and  heard 
The  pulsings  of  the  restless  sea : 
The  morning  surges 
Sounded  like  dirges 
From  some  far-back  eternity, 
Whose  spirits  from  the  deep  are  stirred. 

Awaking  with  the  morning  light, 
Again  I  listened  to  the  sea ; 

But  with  its  surges 

We  heard  no  dirges, 
But  only  life's  activity  : 
Morning  dispelled  the  gloom  of  night. 


MY  SHIP.  383 

At  noon  I  sauntered  forth  to  view 
The  throbbing  of  that  living  sea  : 

Still  it  was  surging, 

But  only  urging 

All  men  to  be  both  strong  and  free,  — 
Strong  in  the  soul  with  conscience  true. 

At  closing  day  once  more  I  stood, 
Gazing  across  that  mighty  sea  : 

Far  ships  were  sailing ; 

The  light  was  failing ; 
Time  lost  in  immortality 
Was  the  reflection  of  my  mood. 

It  is  the  mind,  and  not  the  place, 
Our  mood,  and  not  a  varying  voice, 

That  fills  with  sadness, 

Or  thrills  with  gladness, 
A  soul  whose  one  great  ruling  choice 
Reflects  in  all  things  its  own  face. 

ANONYMOUS. 


MY    SHIP. 

DOWN  to  the  wharves,  as  the  sun  goes  down, 
And  the  daylight's  tumult  and  dust  and  din 
Are  dying  away  in  the  busy  town, 
I  go  to  see  if  my  ship  comes  in. 

I  gaze  far  over  the  quiet  sea, 

Rosy  with  sunset  like  mellow  wine, 

Where  ships  like  lilies  lie  tranquilly, 
Many  and  far  —  but  I  see  not  mine. 


384  MY  SHIP. 

I  question  the  sailors  every  night, 

Who  over  the  bulwarks  idly  lean, 
Noting  the  sails  as  they  come  in  sight : 

"  Have  you  seen  my  beautiful  ship  come  in  ?  " 

"Whence  does  she  come?"  they  ask  of  me. 

"  Who  was  her  master?  and  what  her  name?  " 
And  they  smile  upon  me  pityingly 

When  my  answer  is  ever  and  ever  the  same. 

Oh  !  mine  was  a  vessel  of  strength  and  truth  ; 

Her  sails  were  as  white  as  a  young  lamb's  fleece 
She  sailed  long  since  from  the  port  of  Youth ; 

Her  master  was  Love,  her  name  was  Peace. 

And,  like  all  beloved  and  beauteous  things, 
She  faded  in  distance  and  doubt  away : 

With  only  a  tremble  of  snowy  wings, 
She  floated  swan-like  adown  the  bay, 

Carrying  with  her  a  precious  freight, 
All  I  had  gathered  by  years  of  pain,  — 

A  tempting  prize  to  the  pirate  Fate : 
And  still  I  watch  for  her  back  again, 

Watch  from  the  earliest  morning  light 

Till  the  pale  stars  grieve  o'er  the  dying  day, 

To  catch  the  gleam  of  her  canvas  white 
Among  the  islands  which  gem  the  bay. 

But  she  comes  not  yet :  she  will  never  come 
To  gladden  my  eyes  and  my  spirit  more ; 

And  my  heart  grows  hopeless  and  faint  and  dumb, 
As  I  wait  and  wait  on  the  lonesome  shore, 


THE  FISHERMAN'S    WIDOW.  385 

Knowing  that  tempest  and  time  and  storm 

Have  wrecked  and  shattered  my  beauteous  bark : 

Rank  seaweeds  cover  her  wasting  form, 

And  her  sails  are  tattered  and  stained  and  dark. 

But  the  tide  comes  up,  and  the  tide  goes  down, 
And  the  daylight  follows  the  night's  eclipse  \ 

And  still,  with  the  sailors  tanned  and  brown, 
I  wait  on  the  wharves,  and  watch  the  ships. 

And  still,  with  a  patience  that  is  not  hope, 

For  vain  and  empty  it  long  hath  been, 
I  sit  on  the  rough  shore's  rocky  slope, 

And  watch  to  see  if  my  ship  comes  in. 

"  FLORENCE  PERCY." 


THE    FISHERMAN'S    WIDOW. 

DOWN  on  the  sands,  when  the  tide  is  low, 
I  sit  and  dream  of  "  the  long  ago  ;  " 
The  children  play  at  their  mother's  feet, 
And  the  chime  of  the  waves  is  hushed  and  sweet 
But  a  voice  drifts  over  the  quiet  shore, 
And  whispers,  "  The  sea  shall  be  no  more." 

Down  on  the  sands,  when  the  red  light  pales, 
I  sit  and  watch  for  the  fisherman's  sails ; 
And  my  heart  throbs  still  with  the  old,  old  pain, 
For  the  boat  that  will  never  come  back  again  : 

But  a  new  world  waits  for  my  love  and  me,  — 

A  world  of  peace  where  is  no  more  sea. 


386  MELUSINA. 

For  God  is  good,  and  the  gift  he  gave 
Is  held  a  while  by  the  silver  wave ; 
Not  lost,  but  hidden  :  I  may  not  weep, 
While  he  is  at  rest  in  the  solemn  deep. 
And  the  voice  of  an  angel  speaks  to  me 
Of  the  fair  new  home  where  is  no  more  sea. 

SARAH  DOUDNEY. 


MELUSINA. 

"  T    ISTEN,  listen,  my  children  ! 

JL/  To  the  voice  of  the  wide  salt  sea." 
"  Oh  !  we  hear  it  calling,  calling, 

And  the  gleam  of  its  waves  we  see. 

"  Come  up  from  the  wild,  strong  water ; 

We  are  wet  and  cold  in  the  spray ; 
And  the  sea  it  is  calling,  calling, 

Calling  our  lives  away. 

"  Oh  !  sing  us  a  song  of  the  sunshine 
That  falls  upon  flowers  and  trees, 

Until  we  forget  the  billow, 

And  the  swell  of  the  surging  seas ; 

"  And  loosen,  loosen,  your  tresses 
All  yellow  and  shining  and  fair : 

Oh  !  sing  us  a  song  of  the  sunshine 
While  we  tie  up  your  shimmering  hair." 

The  lady  unfastened  her  tresses 

Till  they  fell  in  a  flood  to  her  knee ; 

But  the  golden  hair  as  she  loosed  it 
Fell  shimmering  green  like  the  sea. 


SILHOUETTES.  387 

The  lady  sang  of  the  sunshine ; 

But  the  children  shrank  from  her  knee, 
For  the  musical  sound  of  her  singing 

Was  the  rippling  voice  of  the  sea. 

"  Oh,  listen,  listen,  my  children  ! 

Shrink  not  away  in  fear ; 
List  to  the  ocean  voices, 

And  tell  me  all  that  ye  hear. 

"  Look  over  the  shining  water, 

And  tell  me  all  that  ye  see. 
Oh,  kiss  me,  kiss  me,  children  ! 

And  will  ye  remember  me  ? 

"  Out  on  the  shining  waters 

I  am  going  far  away  ; 
For  the  sea  is  calling,  calling, 

To  my  heart,  and  I  cannot  stay." 

MARY  T.  REILEY. 


SILHOUETTES. 

rT"vHE  sea  is  flecked  with  bars  of  gray ; 
i    The  dull,  dead  wind  is  out  of  tune  ; 

And,  like  a  withered  leaf,  the  moon 
Is  blown  across  the  stormy  bay. 

Etched  clear  upon  the  pallid  sand 
The  black  boat  lies  :  a  sailor-boy 
Clambers  aboard  in  careless  joy, 

With  laughing  face  and  gleaming  hand. 


388  ON  THE  SEASHORE. 

And  overhead  the  curlews  cry, 

Where,  through  the  dusky  upland  grass, 
The  young  brown-throated  reapers  pass, 

Like  silhouettes  against  the  sky. 

OSCAR  WILDE. 


ON    THE    SEASHORE. 

light  waves  kiss  the  shifting  sands, 
\_    The  deep  seas  kiss  the  sky ; 
Oh,  kiss  me  once,  my  only  love, 
And  then  good-by,  good -by  !  " 

He  kissed  her  upon  cheek  and  chin, 

And  on  her  brow  so  mild ; 
And,  when  he  kissed  her  on  her  mouth, 

Each  wept  like  wounded  child. 

"  Oh  !  I'll  go  east,  and  I'll  go  west, 

Far  over  land  and  sea ; 
But  never  will  my  heart  find  rest 

Until  it  rests  with  thee." 

"  And  I'll  sit  here  from  year  to  year, 

Till  my  life's  stream  runs  dry ; 
But  never  a  face  shall  thine  replace  : 

My  only  love,  good-by  ! " 

He  wandered  east,  he  wandered  west ; 

He  won  gold,  lands,  and  fame, 
A  gray  head,  and  a  weary  heart  — 

Then  back  to  the  old  home  came. 


BY  THE  SEA.  389 

The  light  waves  kissed  the  shifting  sands, 

And  sang  the  selfsame  song  : 
"  I  wonder  where's  the  silly  lass 

I  liked  when  I  was  young." 

He  found  her  at  the  cottage-door ; 

She  smiled  the  same  soft  smile ; 
But  when  he  talked  of  years  to  come 

She  shut  her  eyes  the  while. 

He  kissed  her  upon  cheek  and  chin, 

(They  lie,  saying  love  grows  old ;) 
But,  when  he  kissed  her  on  the  mouth, 

He  shivered  at  the  cold. 

He  clasped  her  to  his  lonely  breast, 

Beside  the  sunny  sea ; 
He  spake  a  hundred  passionate  words  — 

But  never  a  word  spake  she. 

He  loosed  her  from  his  longing  arms, 

That  empty  aye  must  be  : 
"  I'll  never  in  this  world  find  rest 

Till  I  rest  in  earth  with  thee." 

DINAH  MARIA  MULOCK. 


BY    THE    SEA. 

WHY  does  the  Sea  moan  evermore  ? 
Shut  out  from  heaven,  it  makes  its  moan, 
It  frets  against  the  boundary  shore  : 
All  earth's  full  rivers  cannot  fill 
The  Sea,  that  drinking,  thirsteth  still. 


39°  M/SSJNG. 

Sheer  miracles  of  loveliness 
Lie  hid  in  its  unlooked-on  bed : 
Anemones,  salt,  passionless, 
Blow  flower-like,  just  enough  alive 
To  blow  and  multiply  and  thrive ; 

Shells  quaint  with  curve  or  spot  or  spike ; 
Incrusted  live  things,  Argus-eyed,  — 
All  fair  alike,  yet  all  unlike, 
Are  borri  without  a  pang,  and  die 
Without  a  pang,  and  so  pass  by. 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 

MISSING. 

MISSING,  no  more  :  a  dumb,  dead  wall 
Of  silence  and  darkness  stands 
Between  us  and  they  who  left  us  here, 
In  the  golden  morning  of  the  year, 
With  hope  and  promise  and  parting  cheer, 
Wet  eyes,  and  waving  hands. 

Never  an  omen  told  our  hearts 
How  fate  lurked,  grim  and  dark. 

Fresh  and  sweet  smiled  the  April  day ; 

And  the  treacherous  waves  in  sunlight  lay, 

Kissing  the  sands  of  the  sheltered  bay, 
And  laughing  around  the  bark. 

Like  molten  silver  shone  her  sails 

As  she  glided  from  our  gaze ; 
And  we  turned  us  back  to  our  homes  again, 
To  let  custom  grow  o'er  the  yearning  pain, 
And  to  count  by  the  hearth  —  ah,  labor  vain  ! 

The  lonely,  lingering  days. 


MISSING.  391 

Never  a  letter  from  loving  hands, 

Never  a  message,  came  : 
We  knew  long  since  should  the  port  be  won ; 
We  knew  what  the  fierce  north  gale  had  done ; 
And  slowly  crept  over  every  one 

A  terror  we  would  not  name. 

Ah,  me  !  those  weary  mornings, 

When  on  the  great  pier-head 
We  strained  our  sight  o'er  the  tossing  seas, 
And  studied  each  change  in  the  fitful  breeze, 
And  strove  to  answer  in  tones  of  ease 

Light  questions  coldly  said. 

Ah,  me  !  those  weary  midnights, 

Hearing  the  breakers  roar ; 
Starting  from  dreams  of  storm  and  death, 
With  beating  pulses  and  catching  breath, 
To  hear  the  white  surf  "  call  "  beneath, 

Along  the  hollow  shore. 

Never  a  flash  down  the  wires, 

Never  a  word  from  the  East, 
From  the  port  she  sailed  for  —  how  long  ago  ! 
Why,  even  a  spar  one  would  weep  to  know, 
Tossed  on  the  wild  waves'  ebb  and  flow, 

Were  something  real  at  least. 

Missing,  missing,  and  silence  — 

The  great  tides  rise  and  fall ; 
The  sea  lies  dimpling  out  in  the  light, 
Or  dances,  all  living,  gleaming  white  ; 
Day  follows  day,  night  rolls  on  night  — 

Missing,  and  that  is  all. 


392         STANZAS    WRITTEN  IN  DEJECTION. 

The  bark  crossed  out  in  the  log-book, 
The  names  dropped  out  of  the  prayers ; 

In  many  a  household  a  vacant  place ; 

In  many  a  life  a  vanished  grace  : 

We  know  our  cast  in  the  long  life-race  ; 
But  only  God  knows  theirs. 

ANONYMOUS. 


STANZAS  WRITTEN  IN  DEJECTION,  NEAR   NAPLES. 

THE  sun  is  warm,  the  sky  is  clear, 
The  waves  are  dancing  fast  and  bright, 
Blue  isles  and  snowy  mountains  wear 
The  purple  noon's  transparent  light 
Around  its  unexpanded  buds. 
Like  many  a  voice  of  one  delight, 
The  winds,  the  birds,  the  ocean  floods, 
The  city's  voice  itself  is  soft,  like  Solitude's. 

I  see  the  Deep's  untrampled  floor, 

With  green  and  purple  seaweeds  strown  ; 

I  see  the  waves  upon  the  shore, 

Like  light  dissolved  in  star- showers,  thrown  : 

I  sit  upon  the  sands  alone ; 

The  lightning  of  the  noontide  ocean 

Is  flashing  round  me,  and  a  tone 

Arises  from  its  measured  motion. 

How  sweet !  did  any  heart  now  share  in  my  emotion. 

Alas  !  I  have  nor  hope  nor  health, 
Nor  peace  within,  nor  calm  around ; 
Nor  that  content,  surpassing  wealth, 
The  sage  in  meditation  found, 


DRIFTING  APART.  393 

And  walked  with  inward  glory  crowned  ; 

Nor  fame,  nor  power,  nor  love,  nor  leisure. 

Others  I  see  whom  these  surround, 

Smiling  they  live,  and  call  life  pleasure  : 

To  me  that  cup  has  been  dealt  in  another  measure. 

Yet  now  despair  itself  is  mild, 

Even  as  the  winds  and  waters  are  : 

I  could  lie  down  like  a  tired  child, 

And  weep  away  the  life  of  care 

Which  I  have  borne,  and  yet  must  bear, 

Till  death,  like  sleep,  might  steal  on  me, 

And  I  might  feel  in  the  warm  air 

My  cheek  grow  cold,  and  hear  the  sea 

Breathe  o'er  my  dying  brain  its  last  monotony. 

Some  might  lament  that  I  were  cold, 

As  I,  when  this  sweet  day  is  gone, 

Which  my  lost  heart,  too  soon  grown  old, 

Insults  with  this  untimely  moan. 

They  might  lament ;  for  I  am  one 

Whom  men  love  not,  and  yet  regret, 

Unlike  this  day,  which,  when  the  sun 

Shall  on  its  stainless  glory  set, 

Will  linger,  though  enjoyed,  like  joy  in  memory  yet. 

PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 


DRIFTING    APART. 

OUT  of  sight  of  the  heated  land, 
Over  the  breezy  sea, 
Into  the  reach  of  the  solemn  mist 
Quietly  drifted  we. 


394  DRIFTING  APART. 

The  sky  was  as  blue  as  a  baby's  eye 
When  it  falleth  apart  in  sleep ; 

And  soft  as  the  touch  of  its  wandering  hand, 
The  swell  of  the  peaceful  deep. 

Hovered  all  day  in  our  sluggish  wake, 

The  wonderful  petrel's  wing, 
Following,  following,  ever  afar, 

Like  the  love  of  a  human  thing. 

The  day  crept  out  at  the  purple  west, 

Dowered  with  glories  rare  ; 
Never  a  sight,  and  never  a  sound, 

To  startle  the  dreamy  air. 

The  mist  behind,  and  the  mist  before, 

But  light  in  the  purple  west ; 
Until  we  wearied  to  turn  aside, 

And  drift  to  its  haunted  rest. 

But  the  mist  was  behind,  and  the  mist  before 
Rose  up  like  a  changeless  fate ; 

And  we  turned  our  faces  toward  the  dark, 
And  wearily  said  "  Too  late  !  " 

So,  with  foreheads  fronting  the  far-off  south, 

We  drifted  into  the  mist, 
Turning  away  from  the  glorious  west's 

Purple  and  amethyst. 

For  the  sea  and  the  sky  met  everywhere, 
With  the  strength  of  an  evil  hate ; 

And  a  thunder-cloud  came  out  of  the  west, 
And  guarded  the  sunset  gate. 


THE  RELIC  ON  THE  ROCKS.       395 

Thou  art  in  the  royal,  radiant  land 

That  stretcheth  across  the  sea, 
And  the  drifting  hours  of  each  weary  day 

Take  me  farther  from  thee. 

"  HOWARD  G LYNDON." 


THE    RELIC    ON    THE    BOCKS. 

THE  lustrous  Moon  through  the  winterly  night 
Glides,  with  the  stateliest  pomp  of  a  queen, 
Over  filmy  cloudlets  of  pearly  white, 

And  a  cold  calm  sea  of  transcendent  sheen  : 
The  gleam  of  her  robe  is  reflected  there, 
And  lights  up  her  path  like  a  mermaid's  hair ; 

Sheds  over  the  tremulous,  sleeping  sea 
A  vision  of  beauty  and  pure  delight, 

And  softens  with  fingers  of  fantasy 

The  grim  gray  cliffs'  inaccessible  height, 

Till  the  soul  is  lost  in  a  dreamy  mist, 

And  all  seemeth  lovely  the  Moon  hath  kissed. 

But  something  hides  in  a  rift  of  the  rock, 
Near  a  yawning  cavern's  ominous  gloom, 

Which  the  shimmering  moonbeams  dare  not  mock 
With  their  lightsome  touch  j  for  it  tells  of  doom, 

In  its  silence  filling  the  air  with  sound, 

And  the  swirl  of  a  tempest  all  around,  — 

A  something  with  ribs  and  a  broken  back, 
Skeleton  ribs,  that  are  gaunt  and  grim, 

Lying  alone  in  the  shadow  so  black,  — 
A  wreck  nevemore  to  be  taut  and  trim, 


396  SEASHORE. 

Nevermore  answer  to  breeze  or  to  blast 
With  a  floating  pennon,  or  straining  mast. 

Lying  there,  rotting,  by  night  and  by  day, 
Under  that  cruel  and  pitiless  crag ; 

Only  the  curlew  to  watch  its  decay, 
Only  the  seaweed  for  pennon  and  flag : 

Nothing  but  timber  and  cordage,  'tis  true ; 

Only  a  boat  —  but  the  boat  had  a  crew  ! 

ANONYMOUS. 


SEASHORE. 

I    HEARD,  or  seemed  to  hear,  the  chiding  Sea 
Say,  Pilgrim,  why  so  late  and  slow  to  come  ? 
Am  I  not  always  here,  thy  summer  home  ? 
Is  not  my  voice  thy  music,  morn  and  eve, 
My  breath  thy  healthful  climate  in  the  heats, 
My  touch  thy  antidote,  my  bay  thy  bath  ? 
Was  ever  building  like  my  terraces  ? 
Was  ever  couch  magnificent  as  mine  ? 
Lie  on  the  warm  rock-ledges,  and  there  learn 
A  little  hut  suffices  like  a  town. 
I  make  your  sculptured  architecture  vain, 
Vain  beside  mine.     I  drive  my  wedges  home, 
And  carve  the  coastwise  mountain  into  caves. 
Lo  !  here  is  Rome  and  Nineveh  and  Thebes, 
Karnak  and  Pyramid,  and  Giant's  Stairs, 
Half  piled  or  prostrate ;  and  my  newest  slab 
Older  than  all  thy  race. 

Behold  the  Sea  ! 

The  opaline,  the  plentiful  and  strong, 
Yet  beautiful  as  is  the  rose  in  June, 


SEASHORE.  397 

Fresh  as  the  trickling  rainbow  of  July ; 

Sea  full  of  food,  the  nourisher  of  kinds, 

Purger  of  earth,  and  medicine  of  men, 

Creating  a  sweet  climate  by  my  breath, 

Washing  out  harms  and  griefs  from  memory, 

And  in  my  mathematic  ebb  and  flow 

Giving  a  hint  of  that  which  changes  not. 

Rich  are  the  sea- gods  :  who  gives  gifts  but  they  ? 

They  grope  the  sea  for  pearls,  but  more  than  pearls ; 

They  pluck  force  thence,  and  give  it  to  the  wise. 

Tor  every  wave  is  wealth  to  Daedalus, 

Wealth  to  the  cunning  artist  who  can  work 

This  matchless  strength.    Where  shall  he  find,  O  waves  ! 

A  load  your  Atlas  shoulders  cannot  lift  ? 

I,  with  my  hammer  pounding  evermore 

The  rocky  coast,  smite  Andes  into  dust, 

Strewing  my  bed,  and  in  another  age 

Rebuild  a  continent  of  better  men. 

Then  I  unbar  the  doors  :  my  paths  lead  out 

The  exodus  of  nations  :  I  disperse 

Men  to  all  shores  that  front  the  hoary  main. 

I,  too,  have  arts  and  sorceries  : 
Illusion  dwells  forever  with  the  wave. 
I  know  what  spells  are  laid.     Leave  me  to  deal 
With  credulous  and  imaginative  man  \ 
For,  though  he  scoop  my  water  in  his  palm, 
A  few  rods  off  he  deems  it  gems  and  clouds. 
Planting  strange  fruits  and  sunshine  on  the  shore, 
I  make  some  coast  alluring,  some  lone  isle, 
To  distant  men,  who  must  go  there,  or  die. 

RALPH  WALDO  EMERSON. 


398  FOR  MUSIC. 

FOR    MUSIC. 

ALONG  the  shore,  along  the  shore, 
I  see  the  wavelets  meeting : 
But  thee  I  see  —  ah,  nevermore, 

For  all  my  wild  heart's  beating. 
The  little  wavelets  come  and  go ; 
The  tide  of  life  ebbs  to  and  fro, 

Advancing  and  retreating : 
But  from  the  shore,  the  steadfast  shore, 

The  sea  is  parted  never, 
And  mine  I  hold  thee  evermore, 

Forever  and  forever. 

Along  the  shore,  along  the  shore, 

I  hear  the  waves  resounding ; 
But  thou  wilt  cross  them  nevermore 

For  all  my  wild  heart's  bounding. 
The  moon  comes  out  above  the  tide, 
And  quiets  all  the  waters  wide 

Her  pathway  bright  surrounding : 
While  on  the  shore,  the  dreary  shore, 

I  walk  with  weak  endeavor, 
I  have  thy  light's  love  evermore, 

Forever  and  foreVer. 

DINAH  MARIA  MULOCK. 

SONG. 

AS  by  the  shore,  at  break  of  day, 
A  vanquished  chief  expiring  lay, 
Upon  the  sands,  with  broken  sword, 
He  traced  his  farewell  to  the  free ; 
And  there  the  last  unfinished  word 
He  dying  wrote  was  "  Liberty  !  " 


SITTING   ON   THE  SHORE.  399 

At  night  a  sea-bird  shrieked  the  knell 
Of  him  who  thus  for  freedom  fell. 
The  words  he  wrote,  ere  evening  came, 
Were  covered  by  the  sounding  sea : 
So  passed  away  the  cause  and  name 
Of  him  who  died  for  liberty. 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


SITTING    ON    THE    SHORE. 

E  tide  has  ebbed  away ; 

No  more  wild.dashings  'gainst  the  adamant  rocks, 
Nor  swayings  amidst  seaweed  false  that  mocks 
The  hues  of  gardens  gay ; 
No  laugh  of  little  wavelets  at  their  play ; 
No  lucid  pools  reflecting  heaven's  clear  brow : 
Both  storm  and  calm  alike  are  ended  now. 

The  rocks  sit  gray  and  lone  : 
The  shifting  sand  is  spread  so  smooth  and  dry 
That  not  a  tide  might  ever  have  swept  by 

Stirring  it  with  rude  moan  ; 

Only  some  weedy  fragments  idly  thrown 
To  rot  beneath  the  sky,  till  what  has  been 
But  desolation's  self  has  grown  serene. 

Afar  the  mountains  rise, 
And  the  broad  estuary  widens  out, 
All  sunshine  :  wheeling  round  and  round  about 

Seaward,  a  white  bird  flies. 

A  bird  ?     Nay,  seems  it  rather  in  these  eyes 
A  spirit,  o'er  eternity's  dim  sea 
Calling,  "  Come  thou  where  all  we  glad  souls  be." 


400  PEARLS. 

O  life  !  O  silent  shore  ! 

Where  we  all  sit  patient ;  O  great  sea  beyond  ! 
To  which  we  turn  with  solemn  hope  and  fond, 

But  sorrowful  no  more,  — 

A  little  while,  and  then  we,  too,  shall  soar 
Like  white-winged  sea-birds  into  the  infinite  deep : 
Till  then,  thou,  Father,  wilt  our  spirits  keep. 

DINAH  MARIA  MULOCK. 


PEARLS. 

E  wave  that  floods  the  trembling  shore, 
JL    And  desolates  the  strand, 
In  ebbing  leaves,  mid  wreck  and  froth, 
A  shell  upon  the  sand. 

So  troubles  oft  o'erwhelm  the  soul, 

And  shake  the  constant  mind, 
That  in  retreating  leave  a  pearl 

Of  memory  behind. 

ANNA  KATHARINE  GREEN. 


A    TEAR. 

FROM  heaven  dropped  a  tear,  which  thought  to  be 
Forever  lost  within  the  sea. 
A  shell  enclosing  it  said,  "  Have  no  fear, 
For  thou  shalt  be  my  pearl,  O  tear  ! 
Fear  not  the  mighty  waves,  but  trust  to  me 
To  bear  thee  through  them  in  security. 
Oh,  thou,  my  joy,  of  all  my  joys  the  best, 
Thou  heavenly  tear  within  my  breast ! 


'77S  LOVE'S   TO  LOVE    THE  SEA.  401 

The  pearliest  of  thy  tears  thou'st  given  to  me, 
O  Heaven  !  to  guard  and  keep  for  thee." 

HERBERT  W.  BOWEN. 
FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  RUCKERT. 


HOPES    AND    WAVES.       . 

HOPES  on  hopes  from  the  bosom  sever ; 
But  the  heart  hopes  on,  unchanging  ever : 
Wave  after  wave  breaks  on  the  shore ; 
But  the  sea  is  as  deep  as  it  was  before. 

That  the  billows  heave  with  a  ceaseless  motion 
Is  the  very  life  of  the  throbbing  ocean  ; 
And  hopes  that  from  day  to  day  upstart 
Are  the  swelling  wave-beats  of  the  heart. 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  UHLAND. 


'TIS    LOVE'S    TO    LOVE    THE    SEA. 

LOVE  launched  a  fairy-boat 
To  sail  the  wide  sea  over ; 
And  he  laughed  to  lie  and  float 
Beneath  the  white  sail's  cover. 

His  boat  a  sea-shell  fair, 

His  sail  a  white  swan's  feather : 
Love  like  a  pearl  lay  there, 

While  all  was  summer  weather. 

'Tis  Love's  to  love  the  sea 
In  soft  and  summer  weather ; 

'Tis  Love's  to  love  to  be 
With  his  heart's  love  together. 


402  SEA-MEWS  IN  WINTER   TIME. 

Love  launched  a  mighty  ship 
To  bear  fierce  storms  and  battle, 

Tossed  in  the  tempest's  grip, 
Rocked  to  the  cannon's  rattle. 

Love  stood  upon  the  deck, 

With  Death  around  and  under ; 

Laughed  at  the  rocks  that  wreck, 
Laughed  at  battle's  thunder. 

'Tis  Love's  to  love  the  wave, 
With  storms  or  battle  frowning ; 

'Tis  Love's  to  love  to  brave 

Life's  worst  to  win  Love's  crowning. 

F.    W.    BOURDILLON. 


SEA-MEWS    IN    WINTER    TIME. 

I  WALKED  beside  a  dark  gray  sea, 
And  said,  "  O  world,  how  cold  thou  art ! 
Thou  poor,  white  world,  I  pity  thee, 
For  joy  and  warmth  from  thee  depart. 

"  Yon  rising  wave  licks  off  the  snow ; 

Winds  on  the  crag  each  other  chase, 
In  little  powdery  whirls  they  blow 

The  misty  fragments  down  its  face. 

"  The  sea  is  cold,  and  dark  its  rim ; 

Winter  sits  cowering  on  the  wold ; 
And  I,  beside  this  watery  brim, 

Am  also  lonely,  also  cold." 


SEA-MEWS  IN   WINTER    TIME.  403 

I  spoke,  and  drew  toward  a  rock, 

Where  many  mews  made  twittering  sweet ; 

Their  wings  upreared,  the  clustering  flock 
Did  pat  the  sea-grass  with  their  feet. 

A  rock  but  half  submerged,  the  sea 
Ran  up,  and  washed  it  while  they  fed  : 

Their  fond  and  foolish  ecstasy 
A  wondering  in  my  fancy  bred. 

Joy  companied  with  every  cry,  — 
Joy  in  their  food,  in  that  keen  wind, 

That  heaving  sea,  that  shaded  sky, 
And  in  themselves,  and  in  their  kind. 

The  phantoms  of  the  deep  at  play : 

What  idless  graced  the  twittering  things  !  — 

Luxurious  paddlings  in  the  spray, 
And  delicate  lifting  up  of  wings. 

Then  all  at  once  a  flight,  and  fast 

The  lovely  crowd  flew  out  to  sea : 
If  mine  own  life  had  been  recast, 

Earth  had  not  looked  more  changed  to  me. 

"  Where  is  the  cold  ?     Yon  clouded  skies 
Have  only  dropped  their  curtains  low 

To  shade  the  old  mother  where  she  lies, 
Sleeping  a  little,  'neath  the  snow. 

"  The  cold  is  not  in  crag  nor  scar, 

Not  in  the  snows  that  lap  the  lea, 
Not  in  yon  wings  that  beat  afar, 

Delighting  on  the  crested  sea. 


404  FROM  "KING  RICHARD  III." 

"  No,  nor  in  yon  exultant  wind 

That  shakes  the  oak,  and  bends  the  pine : 

Look  near,  look  in,  and  thou  shalt  find 
No  sense  of  cold,  fond  fool,  but  thine  ! " 

With  that  I  felt  the  gloom  depart ; 

And  thoughts  within  me  did  unfold, 
Whose  sunshine  warmed  me  to  the  heart : 

I  walked  in  joy,  and  was  not  cold. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 

FROM    "KING    RICHARD    III." 

I  SAW  a  thousand  fearful  wrecks  ; 
A  thousand  men  that  fishes  gnawed  upon ; 
Wedges  of  gold,  great  anchors,  heaps  of  pearl, 
Inestimable  stones,  unvalued  jewels, 
All  scattered  in  the  bottom  of  the  sea. 
Some  lay  in  dead  men's  skulls ;  and  in  those  holes 
Where  eyes  did  once  inhabit,  there  were  crept 
(As  'twere  in  scorn  of  eyes)  reflecting  gems, 
That  wooed  the  slimy  bottom  of  the  deep, 
And  mocked  the  dead  bones  that  lay  scattered  by. 

SHAKSPEARK. 

THE    MERMAN. 
I. 

WHO  would  be 
A  merman  bold, 
Sitting  alone, 
Singing  alone, 
Under  the  sea, 
With  a  crown  of  gold, 
On  a  throne  ? 


THE  MERMAN.  405 

n. 

I  would  be  a  merman  bold. 
I  would  sit  and  sing  the  whole  of  the  day ; 
I  would  fill  the  sea-halls  with  a  voice  of  power ; 
But  at  night  I  would  roam  abroad,  and  play 
With  the  mermaids  in  and  out  of  the  rocks, 
Dressing  their  hair  with  the  white  sea-flower ; 
And,  holding  them  back  by  their  flowing  locks, 
I  would  kiss  them  often  under  the  sea, 
And  kiss  them  again  till  they  kissed  me 

Laughingly,  laughingly ; 
And  then  we  would  wander  away,  away, 
To  the  pale- green  sea-groves  straight  and  high, 

Chasing  each  other  merrily. 

m. 

There  would  be  neither  moon  nor  star ; 

But  the  wave  would  make  music  above  us  afar, 

Low  thunder  and  light  in  the  magic  night, 

Neither  moon  nor  star. 
We  would  call  aloud  in  the  dreamy  dells, 
Call  to  each  other,  and  whoop  and  cry 

All  night,  merrily,  merrily. 

They  would  pelt  me  with  starry  spangles  and  shells, 
Laughing,  and  clapping  their  hands  between, 

All  night,  merrily,  merrily ; 
But  I  would  throw  to  them  back  in  mine 
Turkois  and  agate  and  almondine, 
Then, leaping  out  upon  them  unseen, 
I  would  kiss  them  often  under  the  sea, 
And  kiss  them  again  till  they  kissed  me 

Laughingly,  laughingly. 


406  THE  MERMAID. 

Oh  !  what  a  happy  life  were  mine 
Under  the  hollow-hung  ocean  green. 
Soft  are  the  moss-beds  under  the  sea : 
We  would  live  merrily,  merrily. 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 


THE    MERMAID. 


WHO  would  be 
A  mermaid  fair, 
Singing  alone, 
Combing  her  hair 
Under  the  sea, 
In  a  golden  curl 
With  a  comb  of  pearl, 
On  a  throne  ? 

n. 

I  would  be  a  mermaid  fair. 
I  would  sing  to  myself  the  whole  of  the  day ; 
With  a  comb  of  pearl  I  would  comb  my  hair ; 
And  still  as  I  combed  I  would  sing,  and  say, 
"  Who  is  it  loves  me?  who  loves  not  me? " 
I  would  comb  my  hair  till  my  ringlets  would  fall, 

Low  adown,  low  adown, 
From  under  my  starry  sea-bud  crown, 

Low  adown  and  around ; 
And  I  should  look  like  a  fountain  of  gold 

Springing  alone 
With  a  shrill  inner-sound. 

Over  the  throne 


THE  MERMAID.  407 

In  the  midst  of  the  hall ; 

Till  that  great  sea-snake  under  the  sea, 

From  his  coiled  sleeps  in  the  central  deeps, 

Would  slowly  trail  himself  sevenfold 

Round  the  hall  where  I  sate,  and  look  in  at  the  gate, 

With  his  large,  calm  eyes  for  the  love  of  me. 

And  all  the  mermen  under  the  sea 

Would  feel  their  immortality 

Die  in  their  hearts  for  the  love  of  me. 


in. 

But  at  night  I  would  wander  away,  away : 
I  would  fling  on  each  side  my  low-flowing  locks, 
And  lightly  vault  from  the  throne,  and  play 
With  the  mermen  in  and  out  of  the  rocks. 
We  would  run  to  and  fro,  and  hide  and  seek, 
On  the  broad  sea-wolds  in  the  crimson  shells 
Whose  silvery  spikes  are  nighest  the  sea ; 
But  if  any  came  near  I  would  call  and  shriek, 
And  adown  the  steep  like  a  wave  I  would  leap 
From  the  diamond-ledges  that  jut  from  the  dells ; 
For  I  would  not  be  kissed  by  all  who  would  list, 
Of  the  bold  merry  mermen  under  the  sea. 
They  would  sue  me,  and  woo  me,  and  flatter  me, 
In  the  purple  twilights  under  the  sea  \ 
But  the  king  of  them  all  would  carry  me, 
Woo  me,  and  win  me,  and  marry  me, 
In  the  branching  jaspers  under  the  sea. 
Then  all  the  dry  pied  things  that  be 
In  the  hueless  masses  under  the  sea 
Would  curl  round  my  silver  feet  silently, 
All  looking  up  for  the  love  of  me. 


408  LAND-LOCKED. 

And  if  I  should  carol  aloud  from  aloft, 
All  things  that  are  forked  and  horned  and  soft 
Would  lean  out  from  the  hollow  sphere  of  the  sea, 
All  looking  down  for  the  love  of  me. 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 


LAND-LOCKED. 

THE  sea  is  so  far  away  ! 
Over  the  leagues  of  land, 
And  over  the  meadows  gold  and  gray, 

And  over  a  viewless  strand, 
Where  the  waves  go, 
And  the  winds  blow, 
And  the  clouds  in  the  sky  flit  to  and  fro. 

I  heard  its  roar  in  the  wood, 

Deep  rustling  through  the  leaves ; 

And  ere  the  harvest  I  understood 
The  whisper  of  bannered  sheaves. 

I  saw  it  yester  night ; 

Crystalline  fire  it  lay 
In  the  heart  of  the  sunset,  still  and  bright, 

With  island  and  cape  and  bay. 

I  dream  of  it  so  much  — 

Distant,  and  yet  so  dear ; 
So  fresh  to  the  sense,  so  far  to  the  touch, 

So  dim,  and  yet  so  clear. 

The  sea  is  in  my  song, 

Here  hemmed  in  by  the  land; 


THE  MYSTIC  STEERSMAN.  409 

And  I  play  in  its  edges  all  day  long, 
By  night  I  walk  its  strand. 


Come  back  to  me,  O  sea  ! 

Back  to  my  heart,  O  breath  ! 
With  the  ships  that  vanish  silently 

From  the  golden  rim  of  death. 

Come  back  to  me,  O  sea  ! 

Back  to  my  heart  again, 
With  the  trodden  beach,  and  the  long  sea-reach, 

And  the  faces  of  friendly  men, 
Where  the  waves  go, 
And  the  winds  blow, 
And  the  clouds  in  the  sky  flit  to  and  fro. 

SAMUEL  WILLOUGHBY  DUFFIELD. 


THE    MYSTIC    STEERSMAN. 

0  FRAGILE  bark  upon  an  unknown  sea, 
Whose  solemn  surges  find  no  echoing  strand, 
Who  is  the  steersman  that  so  patiently 
Does  at  the  magic  wheel  forever  stand? 

When  angry  billows  sleep,  and  skies  are  fair, 
And  sails  flap  idly  in  the  fitful  wind, 

Anxious  to  learn  my  bearings,  what  they  are, 
I  turn,  and  shout  into  the  dark  behind, 

Then  listen.     But  no  echo  comes  again. 
Disconsolate  I  turn  me  round,  and  now 


410  THE  MYSTIC  STEERSMAN. 

Attempt  with  straining  eyes  to  scan  the  main, 
But  see  no  farther  than  my  vessel's  prow. 

I  sometimes  wonder  why  so  frail  a  thing 
Was  ever  launched  upon  so  vast  a  sea ; 

But  what  avails  my  dreamy  wondering? 
What  answer  has  it  ever  brought  to  me  ? 

Yet  in  the  soul  I  hear  meek  whisperings, 

And  sounds  from  fairer  climes  float  on  the  air ; 

While  Faith,  luxurious,  plumes  her  drooping  wings, 
And  gives  herself  to  loving  trust  and  prayer. 

* 

When  dismal,  chilling  fogs  of  Doubt  shut  down, 
Brooding  like  night  through  many  weary  miles, 

Then  Love,  that  many  waters  cannot  drown, 

Looks  up  —  through  rifts  of  blue  the  sunshine  smiles. 

If  storms  arise,  and  hoarse  wild  seas  run  high, 
And  fears  that  all  is  lost  come  with  the  swell, 

Let  me  but  hear  the  whispered,  "  It  is  I," 
And  there  is  calm  more  sweet  than  I  can  tell. 

When  passion's  whirlwind  howls  across  the  deep, 
And  signs  of  danger  threaten  more  and  more, 

Straightway  I  call  the  Master.     Does  he  sleep  ? 
Ah,  no  !     Who  sails  with  him  comes  safe  to  shore. 

Therefore  I  trust  my  faithful,  unseen  Guide, 

And,  meekly  suppliant,  lift  the  outstretched  hand, 

Begging  my  saintly  Watcher  to  abide, 

And  bring  my  frail  bark  safe  to  fatherland. 

W.   J.   TlLLEV. 


THE  SEA-FAIRIES.  411 

A    SUMMER    DAY    BY    THE    SEA. 

THE  sun  is  set ;  and  in  his  latest  beams 
Yon  little  cloud  of  ashen  gray  and  gold, 
Slowly  upon  the  amber  air  unrolled, 
The  falling  mantle  of  the  Prophet  seems. 

From  the  dim  headlands  many  a  lighthouse  gleams, 
The  street-lamps  of  the  ocean ;  and  behold, 
O'erhead  the  banners  of  the  night  unfold ; 
The  day  hath  passed  into  the  land  of  dreams. 

O  summer  day  beside  the  joyous  sea  ! 
O  summer  day  so  wonderful  and  white, 
So  full  of  gladness,  and  so  full  of  pain  ! 

Forever  and  forever  shalt  thou  be  — 

To  some  the  gravestone  of  a  dead  delight, 
To  some  the  landmark  of  a  new  domain. 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 

THE    SEA-FAIRIES. 

SLOW  sailed  the  weary  mariners,  and  saw 
Betwixt  the  green  brink  and  the  running  foam 
Sweet  faces,  rounded  arms,  and  bosoms  pressed 
To  little  harps  of  gold ;  and  while  they  mused, 
Whispering  to  each  other,  half  in  fear, 
Shrill  music  reached  them  on  the  middle  sea. 

Whither  away,  whither  away,  whither  away?  fly  no  more. 
Whither  away  from  the  high  green  field  and  the  happy 

blossoming  shore  ? 

Day  and  night  to  the  billow  the  fountain  calls  : 
Down  shower  the  gambolling  waterfalls 
From  wandering  over  the  lea ; 


412  THE  SEA-FAIRIES. 

Out  of  the  live- green  heart  of  the  dells 
They  freshen  the  silvery-crimson  shells, 
And  thick  with  white  bells  the  clover-hill  swells 
High  over  the  full-toned  sea. 
Oh  !  hither,  come  hither,  and  furl  your  sails, 
Come  hither  to  me  and  to  me  : 
Hither,  come  hither,  and  frolic  and  play. 
Here  it  is  only  the  mew  that  wails : 
We  will  sing  to  you  all  the  day. 
Mariner,  mariner,  furl  your  sails  : 
For  here  are  the  blissful  downs  and  dales ; 
And  merrily,  merrily,  carol  the  gales ; 
And  the  spangle  dances  in  bight  and  bay  ; 
And  the  rainbow  forms,  and  flies  on  the  land 
Over  the  islands  free  ; 

And  the  rainbow  lives  in  the  curve  of  the  sand  : 
Hither,  come  hither  and  see. 
And  the  rainbow  hangs  on  the  poising  wave ; 
And  sweet  is  the  color  of  cove  and  cave, 
And  sweet  shall  your  welcome  be. 
Oh  !  hither,  come  hither,  and  be  our  lords, 
For  merry  brides  are  we  : 

We  will  kiss  sweet  kisses,  and  speak  sweet  words. 
Oh  !  listen,  listen,  your  eyes  shall  glisten 
With  pleasure  and  love  and  jubilee. 
Oh  !  listen,  listen,  your  eyes  shall  glisten 
When  the  sharp-clear  twang  of  the  golden  chords 
Runs  up  the  ridged  sea. 
Who  can  light  on  as  happy  a  shore 
All  the  world  o'er,  all  the  world  o'er? 
Whither  away?  listen  and  stay:  mariner,  mariner,  fly  no 
more. 

ALERED  TENNYSON. 


FROM  "SUPPER  AT  THE  MILL:1  413 

FROM    "SUPPER    AT    THE    MILL." 

WHEN  sparrows  build,  and  the  leaves  break  forth, 
My  old  sorrow  wakes  and  cries ; 
For  I  know  there  is  dawn  in  the  far,  far  north, 

And  a  scarlet  sun  doth  rise  : 
Like  a  scarlet  fleece  the  snow-field  spreads ; 

And  the  icy  founts  run  free ; 
And  the  bergs  begin  to  bow  their  heads, 
And  plunge  and  sail  in  the  sea. 

Oh,  my  lost  love,  and  my  own,  own  love, 

And  my  love  that  loved  me  so  ! 
Is  there  never  a  chink  in  the  world  above 

Where  they  listen  for  words  from  below? 
Nay,  I  spoke  once,  and  I  grieved  thee  sore  — 

I  remember  all  that  I  said ; 
And  now  thou  wilt  hear  me  no  more,  no  more, 

Till  the  Sea  gives  up  her  dead. 

Thou  didst  set  thy  foot  on  the  ship,  and  sail 

To  the  ice-fields  and  the  snow ; 
Thou  wert  sad,  for  thy  love  did  nought  avail, 

And  the  end  I  could  not  know. 
How  could  I  tell  I  should  love  thee  to-day, 

Whom  that  day  I  held  not  dear? 
How  could  I  know  I  should  love  thee  away 

When  I  did  not  love  thee  anear? 

We  shall  walk  no  more  through  the  sodden  plain 

With  the  faded  bents  o'erspread ; 
We  shall  stand  no  more  by  the  seething  main 

While  the  dark  wrack  drives  o'erhead  : 


414      SONG   OF  THE  MERMAIDS  AND  MERMEN. 

We  shall  part  no  more  in  the  wind  and  the  rain, 

Where  thy  last  farewell  was  said  : 
But  perhaps  I  shall  meet  thee,  and  know  thee  again, 

When  the  Sea  gives  up  her  dead. 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


SONG    OP    THE    MERMAIDS    AND    MERMEN. 

MERMAID. 

J7ATHOMS  deep  beneath  the  wave, 
JL  Stringing  beads  of  glistering  pearl, 
Singing  the  achievements  brave 

Of  many  an  old  Norwegian  earl ; 
Dwelling  where  the  tempest's  raving 

Falls  as  light  upon  our  ear 
As  the  sigh  of  lover,  craving 

Pity  from  his  lady  dear,  — 
Children  of  wild  Thule,  we, 
From  the  deep  caves  of  the  sea, 
As  the  lark  springs  from  the  lea, 
Hither  come  to  share  your  glee. 

MERMAN. 

From  reining  of  the  water-horse, 

That  bounded  till  the  waves  were  foaming, 
Watching  the  infant  tempest's  course, 

Chasing  the  sea-snake  in  his  roaming ; 
From  winding  charge-notes  on  the  shell, 

When  the  huge  whale  and  sword-fish  duel, 
Or  tolling  shroudless  seamen's  knell, 

When  the  winds  and  waves  are  cruel,  — 


ALONE   BY  THE  BAY.  415 

Children  of  wild  Thule,  we 

Have  ploughed  such  furrows  on  the  sea 

As  the  steer  draws  on  the  lea, 

And  hither  we  come  to  share  your  glee. 


MERMAIDS   AND    MERMEN. 

We  heard  you  in  our  twilight  caves, 

A  hundred  fathom  deep  below, 
For  notes  of  joy  can  pierce  the  waves, 

That  drown  each  sound  of  war  and  woe. 
Those  who  dwell  beneath  the  sea 

Love  the  sons  of  Thule  well ; 
Thus,  to  aid  your  mirth,  bring  we 

Dance  and  song  and  sounding  shell. 
Children  of  dark  Thule,  know, 
Those  who  dwell  by  haaf  and  voe, 
Where  your  daring  shallops  row, 
Come  to  share  the  festal  show. 

WALTER  SCOTT. 


ALONE    BY    THE    BAY. 

HE  is  gone,  oh,  my  heart !  he  is  gone ; 
And  the  sea  remains  and  the  sky ; 
And  the  skiffs  flit  in  and  out, 

And  the  white -winged  yachts  go  by. 

And  the  waves  run  purple  and  green, 
And  the  sunshine  glints  and  glows  ; 

And  freshly  across  the  bay 

The  breath  of  the  morning  blows. 


41 6  EASTER  MORNING. 

I  liked  it  better  last  night, 

When  the  dark  shut  down  on  the  main, 
And  the  phantom  fleet  lay  still, 

And  I  heard  the  waves  complain. 

For  the  sadness  that  dwells  in  my  heart, 
And  the  rune  of  their  endless  woe, 

Their  longing  and  void  and  despair, 
Kept  time  in  their  ebb  and  flow. 

LOUISE  CHANDLER  MOULTON. 


EASTER    MORNING. 

DAME  Margaret  spake  to  Annie  Blair, 
To  Annie  Blair  spake  she, 
As  from  beneath  her  wrinkled  hand 
She  peered  far  out  to  sea. 

"  Look  forth,  look  forth,  O  Annie  Blair ! 

For  my  old  eyes  are  dim  : 
See  you  a  single  boat  afloat 

Within  the  horizon's  rim  ?  " 

Sweet  Annie  looked  to  east,  to  west, 
To  north  and  south  looked  she  : 

There  was  no  single  boat  afloat 
Upon  the  angry  sea. 

The  sky  was  dark,  the  winds  were  high, 
The  breakers  lashed  the  shore, 

And  louder  and  still  louder  swelled 
The  tempest's  sullen  roar. 


EASTER  MORNING.  417 

"  Look  forth  again  !  "  Dame  Margaret  cried  : 

"Doth  any  boat  come  in?" 
And  scarce  she  heard  the  answering  word 

Above  the  furious  din. 

"  Pray  God  no  boat  may  put  to  sea 

In  such  a  gale  !  "  she  said  ; 
"  Pray  God  no  soul  may  dare  to-night 

The  rocks  of  Danger  Head  ! 

"  This  is  Good  Friday,  Annie  Blair," 

Dame  Margaret  cried  again, 
"  When  Mary's  Son,  the  Merciful, 

On  Calvary  was  slain. 

"  The  earth  did  quake,  the  rocks  were  rent, 

The  graves  were  opened  wide, 
And  darkness  like  to  this  fell  down 

When  He,  the  Holy,  died. 

"  Give  me  your  hand,  O  Annie  Blair  ! 

Your  two  knees  fall  upon  : 
Christ  send  to  you  your  lover  back  — 

To  me,  my  only  son  !  " 

All  night  they  watched,  all  night  they  prayed, 

All  night  they  heard  the  roar 
Of  the  fierce  breakers  dashing  high 

Upon  the  lonely  shore. 

Oh,  hark  !  strange  footsteps  on  the  sand, 

A  voice  above  the  din  : 
"  Dame  Margaret,  Dame  Margaret ! 

Is  Annie  Blair  within  ? 


41 8  EASTER  MORNING. 

11  High  on  the  rocks  of  Danger  Head 

Her  lover's  boat  is  cast, 
All  rudderless,  all  anchorless, 

Mere  hull  and  splintered  mast." 

Oh,  hark  !  slow  footsteps  on  the  sand, 
And  women  wailing  sore  : 

"  Dame  Margaret,  Dame  Margaret ! 
Your  son  you'll  see  no  more. 

"  God  pity  you  !  Christ  comfort  you  !  " 
The  weeping  women  cried  ; 

But  "  May  God  pity  Annie  Blair  !  " 
Dame  Margaret  replied. 

"  For  life  is  long,  and  youth  is  strong, 

And  it  must  still  bear  on. 
Leave  us  alone  to  make  our  moan  — 

My  son  !  alas,  my  son  !  " 


The  Easter  morning,  flushed  with  joy, 

Saw  all  the  winds  at  rest ; 
And  far  and  near  the  blue  sea  smiled 

With  sunshine  on  its  breast. 

The  neighbors  came,  the  neighbors  went ; 

They  sought  the  house  of  prayer : 
But  on  the  rocks  of  Danger  Head 

The  dame  and  Annie  Blair, 

With,  still  white  faces,  watched  the  deep 

Without  a  tear  or  moan. 
"  I  cannot  weep,"  said  Annie  Blair : 

"  My  heart  is  turned  to  stone." 


A   SONG   OF  PITCAIRN'S  ISLAND.  419 

Forth  from  the  church  the  pastor  came ; 

And  up  the  rocks  strode  he, 
Baring  his  thin  white  locks  to  meet 

The  salt  breath  of  the  sea. 


"  The  rocks  shall  rend,  the  earth  shall  quake, 

The  sea  give  up  its  dead ; 
For  Christ  our  Lord  is  risen  indeed  — 

'Tis  Easter  Morn,"  he  said. 

Oh,  hark  !  oh,  hark  !     A  startled  cry, 

A  rush  of  hurrying  feet, 
The  swarming  of  a  hundred  men 

Adown  the  village  street. 

"  Now  unto  God  and  Christ  the  Lord 

Be  praise  and  thanks  alway  ! 
The  sea  hath  given  up  its  dead 

This  blessed  Easter  Day  !  " 

JULIA  C.  R.  DORR. 


A    SONG    OF    PITCAIRN'S    ISLAND. 

COME,  take  our  boy,  and  we  will  go 
Before  our  cabin-door : 
The  winds  shall  bring  us,  as  they  blow, 

The  murmurs  of  the  shore ; 
And  we  will  kiss  his  young  blue  eyes, 
And  I  will  sing  him,  as  he  lies, 

Songs  that  were  made  of  yore,  — 
I'll  sing  in  his  delighted  ear 
The  island  lays  thou  lov'st  to  hear. 


420  A   SONG   OF  PITCAIRN'S  ISLAND. 

And  thou,  while  stammering  I  repeat, 
Thy  country's  tongue  shalt  teach  : 
Tis  not  so  soft,  but  far  more  sweet 

Than  my  own  native  speech ; 
For  thou  no  other  tongue  didst  know, 
When,  scarcely  twenty  moons  ago, 

Upon  Tahiti's  beach 
Thou  cam'st  to  woo  me  to  be  thine 
With  many  a  speaking  look  and  sign. 

I  knew  thy  meaning  :  thou  didst  praise 
My  eyes,  my  locks  of  jet ; 

Ah  !  well  for  me  they  won  thy  gaze  ; 
But  thine  were  fairer  yet. 

I'm  glad  to  see  my  infant  wear 

Thy  soft  blue  eyes  and  sunny  hair ; 
And  when  my  sight  is  met 

By  his  white  brow  and  blooming  cheek, 

I  feel  a  joy  I  cannot  speak. 

Come,  talk  of  Europe's  maids  with  me, 

Whose  necks  and  cheeks,  they  tell, 
Outshine  the  beauty  of  the  sea, 

White  foam,  and  crimson  shell. 
I'll  shape  like  theirs  my  simple  dress, 
And  bind  like  them  each  jetty  tress,  — 

A  sight  to  please  thee  well ; 
And  for  my  dusky  brow  will  braid 
A  bonnet  like  an  English  maid. 

Come,  for  the  soft,  low  sunlight  calls ; 

We  lose  the  pleasant  hours : 
'Tis  lovelier  than  these  cottage  walls,  — 

That  seat  among  the  flowers. 


SEA-DRIFT.  421 

And  I  will  learn  of  thee  a  prayer 
To  Him  who  gave  a  home  so  fair, 

A  lot  so  blest  as  ours,  — 
The  God  who  made  for  thee  and  me 
This  sweet  lone  isle  amid  the  sea. 

WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


SEA-DRIFT. 

SEE  where  she  stands,  on  the  wet  sea-sands, 
Looking  across  the  water  : 
Wild  is  the  night,  but  wilder  still 
The  face  of  the  fisher's  daughter. 

What  does  she  there,  in  the  lightning's  glare : 

What  does  she  there,  I  wonder? 
What  dread  demon  drags  her  forth 

In  the  night  and  wind  and  thunder? 

Is  it  the  ghost  that  haunts  this  coast  ? 

The  cruel  waves  mount  higher, 
And  the  beacon  pierces  the  stormy  dark 

With  its  javelin  of  fire. 

Beyond  the  light  of  the  beacon  bright 

A  merchantman  is  tacking  : 
The  hoarse  wind  whistles  through  the  shrouds, 

And  the  brittle  topmasts  cracking. 

The  sea  it  mounts  over  dead  men's  bones, 

The  sea  it  foams  in  anger ; 
The  curlews  swoop  through  the  resonant  air 

With  a  warning  cry  of  danger. 


422  SOA'G. 

The  star-fish  clings  to  the  seaweed's  rings 

In  a  vague,  dumb  sense  of  peril ; 
And  the  spray  with  its  phantom-fingers  grasps 

At  the  mullein  dry  and  sterile. 

Oh  !  who  is  she  that  stands  by  the  sea, 
In  the  lightning's  glare  undaunted? 

Seems  this  now  like  the  coast  of  hell 
By  one  white  spirit  haunted  ! 

The  night  drags  by,  and  the  breakers  die 

Along  the  rugged  ledges  ; 
The  robin  stirs  in  its  drenched  nest, 

The  hawthorn  blooms  on  the  hedges. 

In  shimmering  lines  through  the  dripping  pines 

The  stealthy  morn  advances ; 
And  the  heavy  sea-fog  straggles  back 

Before  those  bristling  lances. 

Still  she  stands  on  the  wet  sea-sands : 

The  morning  breaks  above  her, 
And  the  corpse  of  a  sailor  gleams  on  the  rocks  — 

What  if  it  were  her  lover? 

THOMAS  BAILEY  ALDRICH. 


SONG. 

ONE  morning,  on  the  seashore  as  I  strayed, 
My  heart  dropped  in  the  sand  beside  the  sea : 
I  asked  of  yonder  mariners,  who  said 
They  saw  it  in  thy  bosom,  worn  by  thee. 


THE  SANDPIPER.  423 

And  I  am  come  to  seek  that  heart  of  mine ; 
For  I  have  none,  and  thou,  alas  !  hast  two  : 
If  this  be  so,  dost  know  what  thou  shalt  do  ?  — 

Still  keep  my  heart,  and  give  me,  give  me,  thine. 

FROM  THE  NEAPOLITAN  (ITALIAN  DIALECT). 

NORTH  AMERICAN  REVIEW. 


THE    SANDPIPER. 

ACROSS  the  narrow  beach  we  flit, 
One  little  sandpiper  and  I ; 
And  fast  I  gather,  bit  by  bit, 

The  scattered  driftwood  bleached  and  dry. 
The  wild  waves  reach  their  hands  for  it, 

The  wild  wind  raves,  the  tide  runs  high, 
As  up  and  down  the  beach  we  flit,  — 
One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 


Above  our  heads  the  sullen  clouds 

Scud  black  and  swift  across  the  sky ; 
Like  silent  ghosts  in  misty  shrouds 

Stand  out  the  white  lighthouses  high. 
Almost  as  far  as  eye  can  reach 

I  see  the  close-reefed  vessels  fly, 
As  fast  we  flit  along  the  beach,  — 

One  little  sandpiper  and  I. 


I  watch  him  as  he  skims  along, 

Uttering  his  sweet  and  mournful  cry. 

He  starts  not  at  my  fitful  song, 
Or  flash  of  fluttering  drapery. 


424  A   SEA-SHELL. 

He  has  no  thought  of  any  wrong : 
He  scans  me  with  a  fearless  eye. 

Stanch  friends  are  we,  well  tried  and  strong, 
The  little  sandpiper  and  I. 

Comrade,  where  wilt  thou  be  to-night 

When  the  loosed  storm  breaks  furiously? 
My  driftwood  fire  will  burn  so  bright ! 

To  what  warm  shelter  canst  thou  fly  ? 
I  do  not  fear  for  thee,  though  wroth 

The  tempest  rushes  through  the  sky : 
For  are  we  not  God's  children  both,  — 

Thou,  little  sandpiper,  and  I  ? 

CELIA  THAXTER. 


A    SEA-SHELL. 

SEE  what  a  lovely  shell ! 
Small,  and  pure  as  a  pearl, 
Lying  close  to  my  foot ; 
Frail,  but  a  work  divine ; 
Made  so  fairly  well 
With  delicate  spire  and  whorl. 
How  exquisitely  minute, 
A  miracle  of  design  ! 

The  tiny  cell  is  forlorn, 
Void  of  the  little  living  will 
That  made  it  stir  on  the  shore. 
Did  he  stand  at  the  diamond  door 
Of  his  house  in  a  rainbow  frill  ? 
Did  he  push,  when  he  was  uncurled, 
A  golden  foot  or  a  fairy  horn 
Through  his  dim  water-world? 


WIND,    MOON,   AND    TIDES.  425 

Slight,  to  be  crushed  with  a  tap 
Of  my  finger-nail  on  the  sand ; 
Small,  but  a  work  divine  ; 
Frail,  but  of  force  to  withstand, 
Year  upon  year,  the  shock 
Of  cataract  seas  that  snap 
The  three-decker's  oaken  spine, 
Athwart  the  ledges  of  rock, 
Here  on  the  Breton  strand. 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 

ALONE. 

A  SAD  old  house  by  the  sea. 
Were  we  happy,  I  and  thou, 
In  the  days  that  used  to  be  ? 
There  is  nothing  left  me  now 

But  to  lie,  and  think  of  thee 

With  folded  hands  on  my  breast, 
And  list  to  the  weary  sea 

Sobbing  itself  to  rest. 

HENRY  HOWARD  BROWNELL. 
WIND,    MOON,    AND    TIDES. 

LOOK  when  the  clouds  are  blowing, 
And  all  the  winds  are  free  : 
In  fury  of  their  going 

They  fall  upon  the  sea. 
But  though  the  blast  is  frantic, 

And  though  the  tempest  raves, 
The  deep,  immense  Atlantic 
Is  still  beneath  the  waves. 


426      SATURDAY  NIGHT  IN   THE  HARBOR. 

Then  while  the  zephyrs  tarry, 

Or  when  the  frost  is  nigh, 
The  maiden  none  can  marry 

"\Yill  beckon  from  the  sky. 
Then,  with  a  wild  commotion, 

Then,  with  a  rush  and  roar, 
The  whole  enormous  ocean 

Is  flung  upon  the  shore. 

FREDERIC  W.  H.  MYERS. 


SATURDAY    NIGHT    IN    THE    HARBOR. 

THE  boats  bound  in  across  the  bar, 
Seen  in  fair  colors  from  afar, 
Grown  to  dun  colors  strong  and  near ; 
Their  very  shadows  seem  to  fear 
The  shadows  of  a  week  of  harms, 
The  memories  of  a  week's  alarms, 
And  quiver  like  a  happy  sigh 
As  ship  and  shadow,  drifting  by, 
Glide  o'er  the  harbor's  peaceful  face, 
Each  to  its  sabbath  resting-place. 

And  some  like  weary  children  come, 
With  sobbing  sails,  half  sick  for  home ; 
And  some,  like  lover's  thoughts,  to  meet 
The  veiled  shore,  spring  daring,  sweet ; 
And  some  reluctant,  in  the  shade, 
The  great  reef  dropped  like  souls  afraid, 
Creep  sadly  in.     Against  the  shore 
Ship  unto  shadow  turneth  more 
And  more.     Ships,  ocean,  shadow,  shore, 
Part  not,  nor  stir  forevermore. 


THE  FORGING   OF  THE  ANCHOR.  427 

My  thoughts  sail  inward  silently, 

My  week-day  thoughts,  O  God,  to  thee  ! 

Cold  fears,  evasive  like  a  star, 

And  hopes  whose  gayest  colors  are 

Akin  to  shades  of  fear.     Wild  dreams, 

Whose  unimprisoned  sweetness  seems 

To-night  a  presence  like  a  blame, 

A  solid  presence  like  a  shame, 

And  faint  temptations  with  held  breath 

Make  room  for  cares  as  dark  as  death, 

Give  place  to  broken  aims,  that  sail 

Dismasted  from  some  heart-spent  gale. 

And  those  come  leaping  lightly  in ; 
And  these  crawl  laggard,  as  a  sin 
Turned  shoreward,  Godward,  ever  must. 
My  soul  sits  humble  in  the  dust, 
Content  to  think  that  in  His  grace 
Each  care  shall  find  its  sabbath-place ; 
Content  to  know,  that,  less  or  more, 
No  sin  can  harbor  near  the  shore. 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS. 
THE    FORGING    OF    THE    ANCHOR. 

COME  see  "  The  Dolphin's  "  anchor  forged  !  'tis  at  a 
white-heat  now ; 
The  bellows  ceased,  the  flames  decreased ;  though  on  the 

forge's  brow  • 

The  little  flames  still  fitfully  play  through  the  sable  mound, 
And  fitfully  you  still  may  see  the  grim  smiths  ranking  round  : 
All  clad  in  leathern  panoply,  their  broad  hands  only  bare  ; 
Some  rest  upon  their  sledges  here,  some  work  the  windlass 
there. 


428  THE  FORGING   OF  THE  ANCHOR. 

The  windlass  strains  the  tackle-chains ;  the  black  mould 

heaves  below ; 
And  red  and  deep  a  hundred  veins  burst  out  at  every 

throe. 

It  rises,  roars,  rends  all  outright :  O  Vulcan,  what  a  glow  ! 
'Tis  blinding  white,   'tis  blasting  bright :    the  high  sun 

shines  not  so ; 
The  high  sun  sees  not  on  the  earth  such  fiery,  fearful 

show,  — 
The  roof-ribs  swarth,  the  candent  hearth,  the  ruddy  lurid 

row 
Of  smiths,  that  stand,  an  ardent  band,  like  men  before 

the  foe. 
As,  quivering  through  his   fleece   of  flame,   the    sailing 

monster  slow 

Sinks  on  the  anvil,  all  about  the  faces  fiery  grow. 
"  Hurrah  !  "  they  shout.     "  Leap  out,  leap  out !  "     Bang, 

bang  !  the  sledges  go  ; 

Hurrah  !  the  jetted  lightnings  are  hissing  high  and  low ; 
A  hailing  fount  of  fire  is  struck  at  every  squashing  blow ; 
The  leathern  mail  rebounds  the  hail ;  the  rattling  cinders 

strow 

The  ground  around ;  at  every  bound  the  sweltering  foun- 
tains flow  ; 
And,  thick  and  loud,  the  swinking  crowd  at  every  stroke 

pant,  "  Ho  !  " 

Leap  out,  leap  out,  my  masters  !  leap  out,  and  lay  on  load  ! 
Let's^  forge  a  goodly  anchor,  —  a  bower  thick  and  broad  ; 
For  a  heart  of  oak  is  hanging  on  every  blow,  I  bode  ; 
And  I  see  the  good  ship  riding,  all  in  a  perilous  road  : 
The  low  reef  roaring  on  her  lee ;  the  roll  of  ocean  poured 
From  stem  to  stern,  sea  after  sea,  the  mainmast  by  the 

board  : 


THE  FORGING   OF  THE  ANCHOR.  429 

The  bulwarks  down ;  the  rudder  gone ;  the  boats  stove 

at  the  chains : 

But  courage  still,  brave  mariners,  the  bower  yet  remains ; 
And  not  an  inch  to  flinch  he  deigns,  save  when  ye  pitch 

sky-high ;     . 
Then  moves  his  head,  as  though  he  said,  "  Fear  nothing ; 

here  am  I  !  " 

Swing  in  your  strokes  in  order ;  let  foot  and  hand  keep 
time  : 

Your  blows  make  music  sweeter  far  than  any  steeple's 
chime. 

But,  while  ye  swing  your  sledges,  sing ;  and  let  the  burden 
be, 

"The  anchor  is  the  anvil-king,  and  royal  craftsmen  we." 

Strike  in,  strike  in  !  The  sparks  begin  to  dull  their  rus- 
tling red  : 

Our  hammers  ring  with  sharper  din ;  our  work  will  soon 
be  sped ; 

Our  anchor  soon  must  change  his  bed  of  fiery,  rich  array 

For  a  hammock  at  the  roaring  bows,  or  an  oozy  couch 
of  clay ; 

Our  anchor  soon  must  change  the  lay  of  merry  craftsmen 
here 

For  the  yeo-heave-o,  and  the  heave-away,  and  the  sighing 
seamen's  cheer, 

When,  weighing  slow,  at  eve  they  go,  far,  far  from  love 
and  home ; 

And  sobbing  sweethearts  in  a  row  wail  o'er  the  ocean- 
foam. 

In  livid  and  obdurate  gloom  he  darkens  down  at  last : 
A  shapely  one  he  is,  and  strong  as  e'er  from  cat  was  cast. 


430  THE  FORGING   OF  THE  ANCHOR. 

O  trusted  and  trustworthy  guard  !  if  thou  hadst  life  like 

me, 
What  pleasures  would  thy  toils  reward  beneath  the  deep, 

green  sea  ! 
O  deep  sea-diver  !   who  might  then  behold  such  sights 

as  thou  ?  — 
The  hoary  monster's  palaces  !     Methinks  what  joy  'twere 

now  ' 
To  go  plumb-plunging  down  amid  the  assembly  of  the 

whales, 
And  feel  the  churned  sea  round  me  boil  beneath  their 

scourging  tails ; 

Then  deep  in  tangle- woods  to  fight  the  fierce  sea-unicorn, 
And  send  him  foiled  and  bellowing  back  for  all  his  ivory 

horn  ; 

To  leave  the  subtle  sworder-fish  of  bony  blade  forlorn, 
And  for  the  ghastly-grinning  shark  to  laugh  his  jaws  to 

scorn ; 

To  leap  down  on  the  kraken's  back,  where,  mid  Norwe- 
gian isles, 

He  lies  a  lubber  anchorage  for  sudden  shallowed  miles, 
Till,  snorting  like  an  under-sea  volcano,  off  he  rolls ; 
Meanwhile  to  swing  a-buffeting  the  far-astonished  shoals 
Of  his  back-browsing  ocean-calves.;  or  haply  in  a  cove 
Shell-strewn,  and  consecrate  of  old  to  some  Undine's  love, 
To  find  the  long-haired   mermaidens ;    or  hard   by  icy 

lands 
To  wrestle  with  the  sea-serpent  upon  cerulean  sands. 

O  broad-armed  fisher  of  the  deep  !   whose  sports  can 

equal  thine? 
"  The  Dolphin "  weighs  a  thousand  tons  that  tugs  thy 

cable-line  : 


BY   THE  SEA.  431 

And  night  by  night  'tis  thy  delight,  thy  glory  day  by  day, 
Through  sable  sea  and  breaker  white,  the  giant  game  to 

play. 

But,  shamer  of  our  little  sports,  forgive  the  name  I  gave  ! 
A  fisher's  joy  is  to  destroy  :  thine  office  is  to  save. 
A  lodger  in  the  sea-king's  halls  !  couldst  thou  but  under- 
stand 
Whose  be  the  white  bones  by  their  side,  or  who  that 

dripping  band, 
Slow  swaying  in  the  heaving  wave  that  round  about  thee 

bend, 
With   sounds   like   breakers,  in  a  dream  blessing  their 

ancient  friend : 
Oh  !   couldst  thou  know  what  heroes  glide  with  larger 

steps  round  thee,  — 
Thine  iron  side  would  swell  with  pride,  thou'dst   leap 

within  the  sea  ! 

Give  honor  to  their  memories,  who  left  the  pleasant  strand 
To  shed  their  blood  so  freely  for  the  love  of  fatherland ; 
Who  left  their  chance  of  quiet  age  and  grassy  churchyard 

grave 

So  freely  for  a  restless  bed  amid  the  tossing  wave  ! 
Oh  !  though  our  anchor  may  not  be  all  I  have  fondly  sung, 
Honor  him  for  their  memory  whose  bones  he  goes  among. 

SAMUEL  FERGUSON. 


BY    THE    SEA. 

SLOWLY,  steadily,  under  the  moon, 
Swings  the  tide  in  its  old-time  way, 
Never  too  late,  and  never  too  soon  ; 

And  the  evening  and  morning  make  the  day. 


432  BY  THE  SEA. 

Slowly,  steadily,  over  the  sands 

And  over  the  rocks,  to  fall  and  flow ; 

And  this  wave  has  touched  a  dead  man's  hands, 
And  that  one  has  seen  a  face  we  know. 


They  have  borne  the  good  ship  on  her  way, 
Or  buried  her  deep  from  love  and  light ; 

And  yet,  as  they  sink  at  our  feet  to-day, 

Ah  !  who  shall  interpret  their  message  aright? 


For  their  separate  voices  of  grief  and  cheer 
Are  blending  at  last  in  one  solemn  tone ; 

And  only  this  song  of  the  waves  I  hear, 
"  For  ever  and  ever  His  will  is  done  !  " 


Slowly,  steadily,  to  and  fro, 

Swings  our  life  in  its  weary  way, 
Now  at  its  ebb,  and  now  at  its  flow ; 

And  the  evening  and  morning  make  the  day. 

Sorrow  and  happiness,  peace  and  strife, 
Fear  and  rejoicing,  its  moments  know  : 

How,  from  the  discords  of  such  a  life, 
Can  the  clear  music  of  heaven  flow  ? 


Yet  to  the  ear  of  God  it  swells, 

And  to  the  blessed  round  the  throne, 

Sweeter  than  chimes  of  sabbath  bells  : 
"  For  ever  and  ever  His  will  is  done." 

ANONYMOUS. 


THE  HIGH   TIDE.  433 

SONNET. 
"  TT  is  a  fearful  night :  a  feeble  glare 

±_  Streams  from  the  sick  moon  in  the  o'erclouded  sky ; 
The  ridgy  billows,  with  a  mighty  cry, 
Rush  on  the  foamy  beaches  wild  and  bare ; 
No  bark  the  madness  of  the  waves  will  dare. 
The  sailors  sleep  :  the  winds  are  loud  and  high. 
Ah,  peerless  Laura  !  for  whose  love  I  die, 
Who  gazes  on  thy  smiles  while  I  despair?  " 
As  then,  in  bitterness  of  heart,  I  cried, 
I  turned,  and  saw  my  Laura,  kind  and  bright, 
A  messenger  of  gladness,  at  my  side  : 
To  my  poor  bark  she  sprang  with  footstep  light, 
And  as  we  furrowed  Tejo's  heaving  tide, 
I  never  saw  so  beautiful  a  night. 

BELCHIOR  MANOEL  CURVO  SEMEDO. 
TRANSLATED  BY  WILLIAM  CULLEN  BRYANT. 


THE    HIGH    TIDE    ON    THE    COAST    OF    LINCOLN- 
SHIRE. 

(I75I-) 

THE  old  mayor  climbed  the  belfry  tower, 
The  ringers  ran  by  two,  by  three  : 
"  Pull,  if  ye  never  pulled  before ; 

Good  ringers,  pull  your  bestT"  quoth  he. 
"  Play  uppe,  play  uppe,  O  Boston  bells  ! 
Ply  all  your  changes,  all  your  swells, 
Play  uppe  '  The  Brides  of  Enderby.'  " 

Men  say  it  was  a  stolen  tyde  — 

The  Lord  that  sent  it,  he  knows  all ; 

But  in  myne  ears  doth  still  abide 
The  message  that  the  bells  let  fall ; 


434  THE  HIGH  TIDE. 

And  there  was  nought  of  strange  beside 
The  flight  of  mews  and  peewits  pied 

By  millions  crouched  on  the  old  sea-wall. 

I  sat  and  spun  within  the  doore  ; 

My  thread  brake  off,  I  raised  myne  eyes ; 
The  level  sun,  like  ruddy  ore, 

Lay  sinking  in  the  barren  skies ; 
And  dark  against  day's  golden  death 
She  moved  where  Lindis  wandereth, 
My  sonne's  faire  wife,  Elizabeth. 

"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  calling, 
Ere  the  early  dews  were  falling, 
Farre  away  I  heard  her  song, 
"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  all  along ; 
Where  the  reedy  Lindis  floweth, 

Floweth,  floweth, 

From  the  meads  where  melick  groweth, 
Faintly  came  her  milking-song,  — 

"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  calling, 
"  For  the  dews  will  soone  be  falling ; 
Leave  your  meadow-grasses  mellow, 

Mellow,  mellow ; 

Quit  your  cowslips,  cowslips  yellow ; 
Come  uppe,  Whitefoot,  come  uppe,  Lightfoot ; 
Quit  the  stalks  of  parsley  hollow, 

Hollow,  hollow ; 

Come  uppe,  Jetty,  rise  and  follow, 
From  the  clovers  lift  your  head ; 
Come  uppe,  Whitefoot,  come  uppe,  Lightfoot, 
Come  uppe  Jetty,  rise  and  follow, 
Jetty  to  the  milking-shed." 


THE  HIGH   77 'DE.  435 

If  it  be  long,  ay,  long  ago, 

When  I  beginne  to  think  howe  long, 
Againe  I  hear  the  Lindis  flow, 

Swift  as  an  arrowe,  sharpe  and  strong ; 
And  all  the  aire,  it  seemeth  mee, 
Bin  full  of  floating  bells  (sayth  shee,) 
That  ring  the  tune  of  Enderby. 

Alle  fresh  the  level  pasture  lay, 

And  not  a  shadowe  mote  be  scene, 
Save  where  full-fyve  good  miles  away 

The  steeple  towered  from  out  the  greene ; 
And  lo  !  the  great  bell  farre  and  wide 
Was  heard  in  all  the  country  side 
That  Saturday  at  eventide. 

The  swanherds  where  their  sedges  are 

Moved  on  in  sunset's  golden  breath, 
The  shepherde  lads  I  heard  afarre, 

And  my  sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth ; 
Till  floating  o'er  the  grassy  sea 
Came  downe  that  kyndly  message  free, 
The  "Brides  of  Mavis  Enderby." 

Then  some  looked  uppe  into  the  sky, 

And  all  along  where  Lindis  flows, 
To  where  the  goodly  vessels  lie, 

And  where  the  lordly  steeple  shows. 
They  sayde,  "  And  why  should  this  thing  be  ? 
What  danger  lowers  by  land  or  sea? 
They  ring  the  tune  of  Enderby  ! 

"  For  evil  news  from  Mablethorpe, 
Of  pyrate  galleys  warping  down ; 


436  THE  HIGH  TIDE. 

For  shippes  ashore  beyond  the  scorpe, 

They  have  not  spared  to  wake  the  towne  : 
But  while  the  west  bin  red  to  see, 
And  storms  be  none,  and  pyrates  flee, 
Why  ring  'The  Brides  of  Enderby  '?  " 

I  looked  without ;  and,  lo  !  my  sonne 

Came  riding  downe  with  might  and  main : 
He  raised  a  shout  as  he  drew  on, 

Till  all  the  welkin  rang  again, 
"  Elizabeth  !  Elizabeth  !  " 
(A  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath 
Than  my  sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth.) 

"The  olde  sea-wall  (he  cried)  is  downe, 

The  rising  tide  comes  on  apace, 
And  boats  adrift  in  yonder  towne 

Go  sailing  uppe  the  market-place."  • 
He  shook  as  one  that  looks  on  death  : 
"  God  save  you,  mother  !  "  straight  he  saith 
"Where  is  my  wife,  Elizabeth?" 

"  Good  sonne,  where  Lindis  winds  her  way, 

With  her  two  bairns  I  marked  her  long ; 
And  ere  yon  bells  beganne  to  play 
Afar  I  heard  her  milking-song." 
He  looked  across  the  grassy  lea, 
To  right,  to  left,  "  Ho,  Enderby  !  " 
They  rang  "  The  Brides  of  Enderby  !  " 

With  that  he  cried,  and  beat  his  breast ; 

For,  lo  !  along  the  river's  bed 
A  mighty  eygre  reared  his  crest, 

And  uppe  the  Lindis  raging  sped. 


THE  HIGH  TIDE.  437 

It  swept  with  thunderous  noises  loud, 
Shaped  like  a  curling  snow-white  cloud, 
Or  like  a  demon  in  a  shroud. 


And  rearing  Lindis,  backward  pressed, 
Shook  all  her  trembling  bankes  amaine, 

Then  madly  at  the  eygre's  breast 

Flung  uppe  her  weltering  walls  again. 

Then  bankes  came  downe  with  ruin  and  rout; 

Then  beaten  foam  flew  round  about ; 

Then  all  the  mighty  floods  were  out. 

So  farre,  so  fast,  the  eygre  drave, 
The  heart  had  hardly  time  to  beat 

Before  a  shallow  seething  wave 

Sobbed  in  the  grasses  at  oure  feet : 

The  feet  had  hardly  time  to  flee 

Before  it  brake  against  the  knee, 

And  all  the  world  was  in  the  sea. 

Upon  the  roofe  we  sate  that  night ; 

The  noise  of  bells  went  sweeping  by ; 
I  marked  the  lofty  beacon-light 

Stream  from  the  church-tower,  red  and  high, 
A  lurid  mark,  and  dread  to  see ; 
And  awesome  bells  they  were  to  mee, 
That  in  the  dark  rang  "Enderby." 

They  rang  the  sailor-lads  to  guide 

From  roofe  to  roofe  who  fearless  rowed ; 

And  I  — my  sonne  was  at  my  side, 
And  yet  the  ruddy  beacon  glowed ; 


THE  HIGH   TIDE. 

And  yet  he  moaned  beneath  his  breath, 
"  Oh,  come  in  life,  or  come  in  death  ! 
Oh,  lost !  my  love,  Elizabeth  !  " 


And  didst  thou  visit  him  no  more  ? 

Thou  didst,  thou  didst,  my  daughter  deare 
The  waters  laid  thee  at  his  doore, 

Ere  yet  the  early  dawn  was  clear. 
Thy  pretty  bairns  in  fast  embrace, 
The  lifted  sun  shone  on  thy  face, 
Downe  drifted  to  thy  dwelling-place. 

That  flow  strewed  wrecks  about  the  grass, 
That  ebbe  swept  out  the  flocks  to  sea ; 

A  fatal  ebbe  and  flow,  alas  ! 

To  manye  more  than  myne  and  mee : 

But  each  will  mourn  his  own  (she  saith ;) 

And  sweeter  woman  ne'er  drew  breath 

Than  my  sonne's  wife,  Elizabeth. 

I  shall  never  hear  her  more 

By  the  reedy  Lindis  shore, 

"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  calling, 

Ere  the  early  dews  be  falling : 

I  shall  never  hear  her  song, 

"  Cusha  !  Cusha  !  "  all  along 

Where  the  sunny  Lindis  floweth, 

Goeth,  floweth ; 

From  the  meads  where  melick  groweth, 
When  the  water  winding  down, 
Onward  floweth  to  the  town. 


FIRST  SIGHT  OF  THE  SEA.  439 

I  shall  never  see  her  more 

Where  the  reeds  and  rushes  quiver, 

Shiver,  quiver, 

Stand  beside  the  sobbing  river, 
Sobbing,  throbbing,  in  its  falling 
To  the  sandy  lonesome  shore  : 
I  shall  never  hear  her  calling, 
"  Leave  your  meadow-grasses  mellow, 

Mellow,  mellow ; 

Quit  your  cowslips,  cowslips  yellow ; 
Come  uppe,  Whitefoot,  come  uppe,  Lightfoot ; 
Quit  your  pipes  of  parsley  hollow, 

Hollow,  hollow ; 
Come  uppe,  Lightfoot,  rise  and  follow ; 

Lightfoot,  Whitefoot, 
From  your  clovers  lift  the  head  ; 
Come  uppe,  Jetty,  follow,  follow, 
Jetty  to  the  milking-shed." 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


FIRST    SIGHT    OF    THE    SEA. 

OH  !  I  shall  not  forget,  until  memory  depart, 
When  first  I  beheld  it,  the  glow  of  my  heart ; 
The  wonder,  the  awe,  the  delight,  that  stole  o'er  me 
When  its  billowy  boundlessness  opened  before  me. 
As  I  stood  on  its  margin,  or  roamed  on  its  strand, 
I  felt  new  ideas  within  me  expand, 
Of  glory  and  grandeur  unknown  till  that  hour ; 
And  my  spirit  was  mute  in  the  presence  of  power. 
In  the  surf-beaten  sands  that  encircled  it  round, 
In  the  billow's  retreat  and  the  breaker's  rebound, 


440  THE  SHORE. 

In  its  white-drifted  foam  and  its  dark-heaving  green, 
Each  moment  I  gazed,  some  fresh  beauty  was  seen. 
And  thus,  while  I  wandered  on  ocean's  bleak  shore, 
And  surveyed  its  vast  surface,  and  heard  its  waves  roar, 
I  seemed  wrapped  in  a  dream  of  romantic  delight, 
And  haunted  by  majesty,  glory,  and  might. 

BERNARD  BARTON. 


THE    SHORE. 

CAN  it  be  women  that  walk  in  the  sea-mist  under  the 
cliffs  there? 

Where,  'neath  a  briny  bow,  creaming,  advances  the  lip 
Of  the  foam,  and  out  from  the  sand-choked  anchors,  on 

to  the  skiffs  there, 

The  long  ropes  swing  through  the  surge  as  it  tumbles, 
and  glitter,  and  drip. 

All  the  place  in  a  lurid,  glimmering  emerald  glory, 

Glares  like  a  Titan  world  come  back  under  heaven 

again : 
Yonder,  up  there,  are  the  steeps  of  the  sea-kings,  famous 

in  story  • 

But  who  are  they  on  the  beach?    They  are  neither 
women  nor  men. 

Who  knows,  are   they  the   land's  or  the  water's   living 

creatures  ? 

Born  of  the  boiling  sea?  nurst  in  the  seething  storms? 
With  their  woman's  hair  dishevelled  over  their  stern  male 

features, 
Striding,  bare  to  the  knee ;  magnified  maritime  forms  ! 


THE  SHORE.  441 

They  may  be  the  mothers  and  wives,  they  may  be  the  sis- 
ters and  daughters, 

Of  men  on  the  dark  mid-seas,  alone  in  those  black- 
coiled  hulls, 
That  toil  'neath  yon  white  cloud,  whence  the  moon  will 

rise  o'er  the  waters 

To-night,  with  her  face  on  fire,  if  the  wind  in  the  even- 
ing lulls. 

But  they  may  be  merely  visions,  such  as  only  sick  men 

witness, 

(Sitting,  as  I  sit  here,  filled  with  a  wild  regret,) 
Framed  from  the  sea's  misshapen  spume  with  a  horrible 

fitness 

To  the  winds  in  which  they  walk,  and  the  surges  by 
which  they  are  wet,  — 

Salamanders,     sea-wolves,    witches,    warlocks,  —  marine 

monsters, 
Which  the  dying  seaman  beholds,  when  the  rats  are 

swimming  away, 
And  an  Indian  wind  'gins  hiss  from  an  unknown  isle,  and 

alone  stirs 

The  broken  cloud  which  burns  on  the  verge  of  the 
dead,  red  day, 

I  know  not.     All  in  my  mind  is  confused ;  nor  can  I 

dissever 
The  mould  of  the  visible  world  from  the  shape  of  my 

thoughts  in  me. 
The  inward  and  outward  are  fused,  and  through  them 

murmur  forever 
The  sorrow  whose  sound  is  the  wind  and  the  roar  of 

the  limitless  Sea.  OWEN  MEREDITH. 


442  THE    TIDES. 

THE    TIDES. 

I  SAW  the  long  line  of  the  vacant  shore, 
The  seaweed,  and  the  shells  upon  the  sand, 
And  the  brown  rocks  left  bare  on  every  hand, 
As  if  the  ebbing  tide  would  flow  no  more. 

Then  heard  I,  more  distinctly  than  before, 

The  ocean  breathe,  and  its  great  breast  expand ; 
And  hurrying  came  on  the  defenceless  land 
The  insurgent  waters  with  tumultuous  roar. 

All  thought  and  feeling  and  desire,  I  said, 
Love,  laughter,  and  the  exultant  joy  of  song, 
Have  ebbed  from  me  forever.     Suddenly  o'er  me 

They  swept  again  from  their  deep  ocean-bed, 
And  in  a  tumult  of  delight,  and  strong 
As  youth,  and  beautiful  as  youth,  upbore  me. 

HENRY  WADSWORTH  LONGFELLOW. 
ON    THE    BEACH. 

THANKS  to  the  few  fair  clouds  that  show 
So  white  against  the  blue, 
At  last  even  I  begin  to  know 
What  I  was  born  to  do. 

What  else  but  here  alone  to  lie, 
And  bask  me  in  the  sun  ? 
Well  pleased  to  see  the  sails  go  by 
In  silence  one  by  one ; 

Or  lovingly,  along  the  low, 
Smooth  shore  no  plough  depraves, 
To  watch  the  long,  low,  lazy  flow 
Of  the  luxurious  waves. 

ROBERT  K.  WEEKS. 


MORNING  AND  EVENING  BY  THE  SEA.       443 

THE    SEA-CAVE. 

HARDLY  we  breathe,  although  the  air  be  free  : 
How  massively  doth  awful  Nature  pile 
The  living  rock,  like  some  cathedral  aisle, 
Sacred  to  silence  and  the  solemn  sea. 
How  that  clear  pool  lies  sleeping  tranquilly, 
And  under  its  glassed  surface  seems  to  smile 
With  many  hues,  a  mimic  grove  the  while 
Of  foliage  submarine,  —  shrub,  flower,  and  tree. 
Beautiful  scene  !  and  fitted  to  allure 
The  printless  footsteps  of  some  sea-born  maid, 
Who  here,  with  her  green  tresses  disarrayed, 
'Mid  the  clear  bath,  unfearing  and  secure, 
May  sport  at  noontide  in  the  caverned  shade, 
Cold  as  the  shadow,  as  the  waters  pure. 

THOMAS  DOUBLEDAY. 


MORNING  AND  EVENING  BY  THE  SEA. 

AT  dawn  the  fleet  stretched  miles  away, 
On  ocean-plains  asleep, — 
Trim  vessels  waiting  for  the  day, 

To  move  across  the  deep. 
So  still  the  sails,  they  seemed  to  be 
White  lilies  growing  in  the  sea. 

When  evening  touched  the  cape's  low  rim, 

And  dark  fell  on  the  waves, 
We  only  saw  processions  dim 

Of  clouds  and  shadowy  caves  : 
These  were  the  ghosts  of  buried  ships 
Gone  down  in  one  brief  hour's  eclipse. 

JAMES  THOMAS  FIELDS. 


444  FACES  ON  THE    WALL. 

PACES    ON    THE    WALL. 
(STORM  AND  CALM.) 

THE  lone  house  shakes  ;  the  wild  waves  leap  around  ; 
Their  sharp  mouths  foam,  their  frantic  hands  wave 

high : 
I  hear  around  me  a  sad  soul  of  sound,  — 

A  ceaseless  sob,  a  melancholy  cry. 

Above  there  is  trouble  in  the  sky. 
On  either  side  stretch  waters  with  no  bound. 

Within,  my  cheek  upon  my  hand,  sit  I, 
Oft  startled  by  sick  faces  of  the  drowned. 

Yet  are  there  golden  dawns  and  glassy  days, 
When  the  vast  sea  is  smooth,  and  sunk  in  rest, 

And  in  the  sea  the  gentle  heaven  doth  gaze, 
And,  seeing  its  own  beauty,  smiles  its  best, 

With  nights  of  peace,  when  in  a  virgin  haze 
God's  moon  wades  through  the  shallows  of  the  west. 

ROBERT  BUCHANAN. 

SONG. 

WHERE  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go  ? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 
And  where  the  land  she  travels  from  ?     Away, 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  they  can  say. 

On  sunny  noons,  upon  the  deck's  smooth  face, 
Linked  arm  in  arm,  how  pleasant  here  to  pace  ! 
Or,  o'er  the  stern  reclining,  watch  below 
The  foaming  wake  far  widening  as  we  go. 

On  stormy  nights  when  wild  north-westers  rave, 
How  proud  a  thing  to  fight  with  wind  and  wave  ! 


ON  THE  SHORE.  445 

The  dripping  sailor  on  the  reeling  mast 
Exults  to  bear,  and  scorns  to  wish  it  past. 

Where  lies  the  land  to  which  the  ship  would  go  ? 
Far,  far  ahead,  is  all  her  seamen  know. 
And  where  the  land  she  travels  from  ?     Away, 
Far,  far  behind,  is  all  that  they  can  say. 

ARTHUR  HUGH  CLOUGH. 


ON    THE    SHORE. 

HERE  many  a  time  she  must  have  walked, 
The  dull  sand  brightening  'neath  her  feet, 
The  cool  air  quivering  as  she  talked, 
Or  laughed,  or  warbled  sweet. 

The  shifting  sand  no  trace  of  her, 

No  sound  the  wandering  wind  retains ; 

But,  breaking  where  the  footprints  were, 
Loudly  the  sea  complains. 

ROBERT  K.  WEEKS. 


ON    THE    SHORE. 

'T^HROWN  backward  from  the  rocks  that  gloom  where 
1      lies 

A  battered  hulk,  the  bright  waves  flash  and  foam, 
And  o'er  the  sunken  reefs  the  rollers  comb, 
While  far  along  the  wind  their  light  spray  flies. 
Great  ships  are  lessening  slowly  down  the  skies, 
Winging  their  way  toward  some  distant  home. 
A  gray  cloud  rises  upward  like  a  dome, 
And  sea-gulls  haunt  the  sand  with  garrulous  cries ; 


446  SHIPS  AT  SEA. 

And  high  above  the  wild  and  windy  cape, 
Scathed  by  the  lightning,  bent  by  stormy  gales, 
There  stands  the  remnant  of  an  ancient  tree  : 
The  clambering  vines  its  shattered  fragments  drape, 
And  wave  a  welcome  to  the  swelling  sails 
That  win  their  way  up  from  the  distant  sea. 

THOMAS  S.  COLLIER. 


SHIPS    AT    SEA. 

I  HAVE  ships  that  went  to  sea 
More  than  fifty  years  ago  : 
None  have  yet  come  home  to  me, 

But  keep  sailing  to  and  fro. 
I  have  seen  them,  in  my  sleep, 
Plunging  through  the  shoreless  deep, 
With  tattered  sails,  and  battered  hulls, 
While  around  them  screamed  the  gulls, 
Flying  low,  flying  low. 

I  have  wondered  why  they  staid 
From  me,  sailing  round  the  world  ; 

And  I've  said,  "  I'm  half  afraid 

That  their  sails  will  ne'er  be  furled." 

Great  the  treasures  that  they  hold,  — 

Silks  and  plumes,  and  bars  of  gold ; 

While  the  spices  which  they  bear 

Fill  with  fragrance  all  the  air, 

As  they  sail,  as  they  sail. 

Every  sailor  in  the  port 

Knows  that  I  have  ships  at  sea, 
Of  the  waves  and  winds  the  sport  ; 

And  the  sailors  pity  me. 


SHIPS  AT  SEA.  447 


Oft  they  come  and  with  me  walk, 
Cheering  me  with  hopeful  talk, 
Till  I  put  my  fears  aside, 
And  contented  watch  the  tide 

Rise  and  fall,  rise  and  fall. 

I  have  waited  on  the  piers, 

Gazing  for  them  down  the  bay, 
Days  and  nights,  for  many  years, 

Till  I  turned  heart- sick  away. 
But  the  pilots,  when  they  land, 
Stop  and  take  me  by  the  hand, 
Saying,  "  You  will  live  to  see 
Your  proud  vessels  come  from  sea, 
One  and  all,  one  and  all." 

So  I  never  quite  despair, 

Nor  let  hope  or  courage  fail ; 
And  some  day,  when  skies  are  fair, 

Up  the  bay  my  ships  will  sail. 
I  can  buy  then  all  I  need,  — 
Prints  to  look  at,  books  to  read, 
Horses,  wines,  and  works  of  art, 
Every  thing  —  except  a  heart ; 
That  is  lost,  that  is  lost. 

Once,  when  I  was  pure  and  young, 
Poorer,  too,  than  I  am  now, 

Ere  a  cloud  was  o'er  me  flung, 
Or  a  wrinkle  creased  my  brow, 

There  was  one  whose  heart  was  mine 

But  she's  something  now  divine  : 


448  A  STOWAWAY. 

And  though  come  my  ships  from  sea, 
They  can  bring  no  heart  to  me, 
Evermore,  evermore. 

ROBERT  BARRY  COFFIN  (BARRY  GRAY). 


A    STOWAWAY. 

ALL  from  the  wreck  had  fled,  and  found  their  lives, 
save  one. 

The  captain,  monarch  of  the  quarter-deck, 
Left  by  his  own  imperious  will,  at  length 
Bound  to  his  breast  the  belt  that  offered  life, 
When  suddenly,  as  if  of  nothing  born, 
A  strange,  pale  face  looked  at  him  from  the  shrouds,  — 
A  lad,  a  stowaway,  never  before 
Seen  by  his  eyes.     No  time  for  questioning. 
From  his  brave  heart  unclasping  quick  the  belt, 
He  gave  it  to  his  brother.     "  I  can  swim 
That  far,  my  boy,"  he  said. 

Ah,  sad  untruth  ! 

The  billow  that  laid  down  upon  the  sands 
The  ocean-waif,  his  savior  dragged  to  death. 

J.  J.  JOHNS. 


THE    SILVER    BRIDGE. 

THE  sunset  fades  along  the  shore, 
And  faints  beyond  yon  rosy  reach  of  sea ; 
Night  falls  again,  but,  ah  !  no  more, 
No  more,  no  more 
My  Love  returns  to  me. 


SONNET.  449 

The  lonely  moon  builds  soft  and  slow 
Her  silver  bridge  across  the  main, 
But  him  who  sleeps  the  wave  below 

Love  mourns  in  vain. 

Ah,  no  !  ah,  no  ! 

He  never  comes  again. 

But  when  some  night  beside  the  sea 

I  watch,  when  sunset's  red  has  ceased  to  burn 

That  silver  path,  and  sign  —  ah,  me  ! 

Ah,  me  !  ah,  me  ! 

He  never  will  return. 

If  on  that  bridge  of  rippling  light 

His  homeward  feet  should  find  their  way, 

I  should  not  wonder  at  the  sight, 

But  only  say, 

"  Ah,  Love,  my  Love  ! 

I  knew  you  would  not  stay." 

ELIZABETH  AKERS  ALLEN. 


SONNET. 

OTATELY  yon  vessel  sails  adown  the  tide, 
O  To  some  far-distant  land  adventurous  bound 
The  sailors'  busy  cries  from  side  to  side, 
Pealing  among  the  echoing  rocks,  resound. 
A  patient,  thoughtless,  much-enduring  band, 
Joyful  they  enter  on  their  ocean  way, 
With  shouts  exulting  leave  their  native  land, 
And  know  no  care  beyond  the  present  day. 
But  is  there  no  poor  mourner  left  behind, 
Who  sorrows  for  a  child  or  husband  there ; 


450  RESTLESSNESS. 

Who  at  the  howling  of  the  midnight  wind 
Will  wake,  and  tremble  in  her  boding  prayer? 
So  may  her  voice  be  heard,  and  Heaven  be  kind  ! 
Go,  gallant  ship,  and  be  thy  fortune  fair  ! 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 

RESTLESSNESS. 

DOWN  in  the  harbor  the  ships  lie  moored, 
Weary  sea-birds  with  folded  wings, 
Anchors  sunken,  and  sails  secured  ; 
Yet  on  the  water  they  rock  and  swing, 

Rock  and  swing, 
As  though  each  keel  were  a  living  thing. 

Silence  sleeps  on  the  earth  and  air, 

Never  a  breath  does  the  sea-breeze  blow ; 

Yet  like  living  pendulums  there, 
Down  in  the  harbor,  to  and  fro, 
To  and  fro, 

Backward  and  forward,  the  vessels  go. 

As  a  child  on  its  mother's  breast, 

Cradled  in  happy  slumber,  lies, 
Yet,  half-conscious  of  joy  and  rest, 

Varies  its  breathings,  and  moves  and  sighs, 

Moves  and  sighs, 
Yet  neither  wakes  nor  opens  its  eyes. 

Or  it  may  be,  the  vessels  long  — 

For  almost  human  they  seem  to  me  — 

For  the  leaping  waves,  and  the  storm-wind  strong, 
And  the  fetterless  freedom  out  at  sea, 
Out  at  sea, 

And  feel  their  rest  a  captivity. 


A   SEA-VIEW.  451 

So,  as  a  soul  from  a  higher  sphere, 

Fettered  down  to  this  earthly  clay, 
Strives  at  the  chains  that  bind  it  here, 

Tossing  and  struggling,  day  by  day, 

Day  by  day, 
Longing  to  break  them  and  flee  away, 

Strive  the  ships  in  their  restlessness, 

Whether  the  tide  be  high  or  low ; 
And  why  these  teardrops  I  cannot  guess, 

As  down  in  the  harbor  to  and  fro, 

To  and  fro, 
Backward  and  forward,  the  vessels  go. 

ELIZABETH  AKERS  ALLEN. 


A    SEA- VIEW. 

I  CLIMBED  the  sea-worn  cliffs  that  edged  the  shore, 
And,  looking  downward,  watched  the  breakers  curl 
Around  the  rocks,  and  marked  their  mighty  swirl 
Quiver  through  ancient  seaweed  dark  and  hoar. 
Eastward  the  white-caps  rose  with  far-off  roar 
Against  a  sky  like  red  and  purple  pearl ; 
Then  hollowed  greenly  in,  and  rushed  to  hurl 
Their  weight  of  water  at  the  cliffs  before. 
Only  a  sea-gull  flying  silently, 
And  one  soft  rosy  sail,  were  now  in  sight, 
A  sail  the  sunset  touched  right  tenderly, 
And  flushed  with  dreamy  glory  faintly  bright. 
Then  fain  would  I  have  crossed  the  tossing  sea, 
Fain  dared  the  storm,  to  float  within  that  light. 

ALICE  C.  OSBOKNE. 


452  RAPE'S   CHASM,    CAPE  ANN. 

RAPE'S    CHASM,    CAPE    ANN. 
(SEPTEMBER  SURF,  1882.) 

WHITE  fire  upon  the  gray-green  waste  of  waves, 
The  low  light  of  the  breaker  flares.     Ah,  see  ! 
Outbursting  on  a  sky  of  steel  and  ice, 
The  baffled  sun  stabs  wildly  at  the  gale. 
The  water  rises  like  a  god  aglow, 
Who  all  too  long  hath  slept,  and  dreamed  too  sure, 
And  finds  his  goddess  fled  his  empty  arms. 
Silent,  the  mighty  cliff  receives  at  last 
That  rage  of  elemental  tenderness, 
The  old  omnipotent  caress  she  knows. 
Yet  once  the  solid  earth  did  melt  for  her, 
And,  pitying,  made  retreat  before  her  flight. 
Would  she  have  hidden  her  forever  there  ? 
Or  did  she,  wavering,  linger  long  enough 
To  let  the  accustomed  torrent  chase  her  down  ? 

Over  the  neck  of  the  gorge 

I  cling.     Lean  desperately  ! 

He  who  feared  a  chasm's  edge 

Were  never  the  one  to  see 

The  torment  and  the  triumph  hid 

Where  the  deep  surges  be. 

I  pierce  the  gulf;  I  sweep  the  coast 

Wrhere  wide  the  tide  swings  free  ; 

I  search  as  never  soul  sought  before. 
There  is  not  patience  enough  in  all  the  shore, 
There  is  not  passion  enough  in  all  the  sea, 
To  tell  my  love  for  thee. 

ELIZABETH  STUART  PHELPS. 


IF  THE    WIND  RISE.  453 

IF    THE    WIND    RISE. 

AN  open  sea,  a  gallant  breeze 
That  drives  our  little  boat : 
How  fast  each  wave  about  us  flees  ! 
How  fast  the  low  clouds  float ! 

"  We'll  never  see  the  morning  skies 
If  the  wind  rise." 
"  If  the  wind  rise, 
We'll  hear  no  more  of  earthly  lies." 

The  moon  from  time  to  time  breaks  out, 

And  silvers  all  the  sea ; 
The  billows  toss  their  manes  about ; 
The  little  boat  leaps  free. 

"  We'll  never  see  our  true  loves'  eyes 
If  the  wind  rise." 
"  If  the  wind  rise, 
We'll  waste  no  more  our  foolish  sighs." 

She  takes  a  dash  of  foam  before, 

A  dash  of  spray  behind  ; 
The  wolfish  waves  about  her  roar, 
And  gallop  with  the  wind. 

"  We'll  see  no  more  the  woodland  dyes 
If  the  wind  rise." 
"  If  the  wind  rise, 
We've  heard  the  last  of  human  cries." 

The  sky  seems  bending  lower  down, 

And  swifter  sweeps  the  gale  : 
Our  craft  she  shakes  from  heel  to  crown, 

And  dips  her  fragile  sail. 


454  A  LIFE  ON  THE   OCEAN-WAVE. 

"  We  may  forgive  our  enemies 

If  the  wind  rise." 

"  If  the  wind  rise, 
We'll  sup  this  night  in  Paradise." 

JOSEPH  O'CONNOR. 

A    LIFE    ON    THE    OCEAN-WAVE. 

A  LIFE  on  the  ocean-wave, 
A  home  on  the  rolling  deep, 
Where  the  scattered  waters  rave, 

And  the  winds  their  revels  keep  ! 
Like  an  eagle  caged,  I  pine 

On  this  dull,  unchanging  shore  : 
Oh,  give  me  the  flashing  brine, 
The  spray,  and  the  tempest's  roar  ! 

Once  more  on  the  deck  I  stand 

Of  my  own  swift-gliding  craft. 
Set  sail !  farewell  to  the  land  ! 

The  gale  follows  fair  abaft. 
We  shoot  through  the  sparkling  foam 

Like  an  ocean-bird  set  free ; 
Like  the  ocean-bird,  our  home 

We'll  find  far  out  on  the  sea. 

The  land  is  no  longer  in  view ; 

The  clouds  have  begun  to  frown  : 
But  with  a  stout  vessel  and  crew 

We'll  say,  "  Let  the  storm  come  down  !  " 
And  the  song  of  our  hearts  shall  be, 

While  the  winds  and  the  waters  rave, 
"  A  home  on  the  rolling  sea  ! 

A  life  on  the  ocean-wave  ! " 

EPES  SARGENT. 


HENRY   THE  HERMIT.  455 

HENRY    THE    HERMIT. 
[This  story  is  related  in  the  "  English  Martyrology,"  1608.  J 

IT  was  a  little  island  where  he  dwelt, 
A  solitary  islet,  bleak  and  bare ; 
Short,  scanty  herbage  spotting  with  dark  spots 
Its  gray  stone  surface.     Never  mariner 
Approached  that  rude  and  uninviting  coast, 
Nor  ever  fisherman  his  lonely  bark 
Anchored  beside  its  shore.     It  was  a  place 
Befitting  well  a  rigid  anchoret 
Dead  to  the  hopes  and  vanities  and  joys 
And  purposes  of  life.     And  he  had  dwelt 
Many  long  years  upon  that  lonely  isle  ; 
For  in  ripe  manhood  he  abandoned  arms, 
Honors  and  friends  and  country,  and  the  world, 
And  had  grown  old  in  solitude.     That  isle 
Some  solitary  man  in  other  times 
Had  made  his  dwelling-place ;  and  Henry  found 
The  little  chapel  which  his  toil  had  built, 
Now  by  the  storms  unroofed,  his  bed  of  leaves 
Wind-scattered,  and  his  grave  o'ergrown  with  grass 
And  thistles,  whose  white  seeds  there  winged  in  vain, 
Withered  on  rocks,  or  in  the  waves  were  lost. 
So  he  repaired  the  chapel's  ruined  roof, 
Cleared  the  gray  lichen  from  the  altar-stone, 
And  underneath  a  rock  that  sheltered  him 
From  the  sea-blast  he  built  his  hermitage. 

The  peasants  from  the  shore  would  bring  him  food, 
And  beg  his  prayers.     But  human  converse  else 
He  knew  not  in  that  utter  solitude  ; 
Nor  ever  visited  the  haunts  of  men, 


456  HENRY   THE  HERMIT. 

Save  when  some  sinful  wretch  on  a  sick-bed 
Implored  his  blessing  and  his  aid  in  death. 
That  summons  he  delayed  not  to  obey, 
Though  the  night-tempest  or  autumnal  wind 
Maddened  the  waves,  and  though  the  mariner, 
Albeit  relying  on  his  saintly  load, 
-Grew  pale  to  see  the  peril.     Thus  he  lived, 
A  most  austere  and  self-denying  man, 
Till  abstinence  and  age  and  watchfulness 
Had  worn  him  down,  and  it  was  pain  at  last 
To  rise  at  midnight  from  his  bed  of  leaves, 
And  bend  his  knees  in  prayer.     Yet  not  the  less, 
Though  with  reluctance  of  infirmity, 
Rose  he  at  midnight  from  his  bed  of  leaves, 
And  bent  his  knees  in  prayer ;  but  with  more  zeal, 
More  self-condemning  fervor,  raised  his  voice, 
Imploring  pardon  for  the  natural  sin 
Of  that  reluctance,  till  the  atoning  prayer 
Had  satisfied  his  heart,  and  given  it  peace, 
And  the  repented  fault  became  a  joy. 


One  night,  upon  the  shore  his  chapel-bell 

Was  heard  :  the  air  was  calm,  and  its  far  sounds 

Over  the  water  came,  distinct  and  loud. 

Alarmed,  at  that  unusual  hour,  to  hear 

Its  toll 'irregular,  a  monk  arose, 

And  crossed  to  the  island  chapel.     On  a  stone 

Henry  was  sitting  there,  dead,  cold,  and  stiff, 

The  bell-rope  in  his  hand,  and  at  his  feet 

The  lamp,  that  streamed  a  long,  unsteady  light. 

WESTBURY,  1799.  ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 


IN  HARBOR.  457 

IN    HARBOR. 

I  THINK  it  is  over,  over ; 
I  think  it  is  over  at  last ; 
Voices  of  foeman  and  lover, 

The  sweet  and  the  bitter,  have  passed  : 
Life,  like  a  tempest  of  ocean, 

Hath  outblown  its  ultimate  blast. 
There's  but  a  faint  sobbing  seaward, 
While  the  calm  of  the  tide  deepens  leeward, 
And,  behold  !  like  the  welcoming  quiver 
Of  heart-pulses  throbbed  through  the  river, 
Those  lights  in  the  Harbor  at  last, 
The  heavenly  Harbor  at  last. 

I  feel  it  is  over,  over, 

The  -winds  and  the  waters  surcease  : 
How  few  were  the  days  of  the  rover 

That  smiled  in  the  beauty  ,of  peace  ! 
And  distant  and  dim  was  the  omen 

That  hinted  redress  or  release 
From  the  ravage  of  life  and  its  riot. 
What  marvel  I  yearn  for  the  quiet 
Which  bides  in  this  Harbor  at  last ! 
For  the  lights,  with  their  welcoming  quiver, 
That  throb  through  the  sanctified  river 
Which  girdles  the  Harbor  at  last, 
The  heavenly  Harbor  at  last. 

I  know  it  is  over,  over, 

I  know  it  is  over  at  last. 
Down  sail ;  the  sheathed  anchor  uncover ; 

For  the  stress  of  the  voyage  has  passed  : 


458  AV  HA  KB  OK. 

Life,  like  a  tempest  of  ocean, 

Hath  outblown  its  ultimate  blast. 
There's  but  a  faint  sobbing  seaward, 
While  the  calm  of  the  tide  deepens  leeward, 
And,  behold  !  like  the  welcoming  quiver 
Of  heart-pulses  throbbed  through  the  river, 
Those  lights  on  the  Harbor  at  last, 
The  heavenly  Harbor  at  last. 

PAUL  H.  HAYNE. 


KCEAN-SOUNDINGS. 


CREATOR  and  destroyer,  mighty  sea! 

That  in  thy  still  and  solitary  deep 

Dost  at  all  being's  base  thy  vigil  keep, 
And  nurturest,  serene  and  potently, 
The  slumbering  roots  of  vast  Creation's  tree. 

HJALMAR  HJORTH  BoYESEN:    Sonnet,  The  Sea. 


HYMN    TO    THE    SEA. 

IF  there  is  nothing  sure  but  the  unsure, 
Which  is  at  once  its  cradle  and  its  grave, 
Creative  and  destructive,  hand  that  moulds, 
And  feet  that  trample,  instruments  of  change, 
Which  is  itself  the  instrument  of  power ; 
If  these  our  bodies,  conscious  of  themselves, 
And  cognizable  by  others  like  themselves, 
Waste  and  supply  their  forces  day  by  day, 
Till  there  is  nothing  left  of  what  they  were, 
The  whole  man  being  re-made  from  head  to  foot, 
How  comes  it  then,  I  say,  that  standing  here 
Beside  the  waters  of  this  quiet  bay, 
Which  welter  shoreward,  roughened  by  the  wind, 
Twinkling  in  sunshine,  I  am  the  same  man 
Who  gazed  upon  them  thirty  years  ago, 
Lulled  by  their  placid  motion,  and  the  sense 
Of  something  happy  they  begat  in  me  ? 

I  saunter  by  the  shore,  and  lose  myself 
In  the  blue  waters,  stretching  on  and  on, 
Beyond  the  low-lying  headland,  dark  with  woods, 
And  on  to  the  green  waste  of  sea,  content 
To  be  alone.     But  I  am  not  alone, 

46i 


462  HYMN  TO    THE  SEA. 

For  solitude  like  this  is  populous ; 
And  its  abundant  life  of  sky  and  sun, 
High-floating  clouds,  low  mists,  and  wheeling  birds, 
And  waves  that  ripple  shoreward  all  day  long, 
Whether  the  tide  is  setting  in  or  out, 
Forever  rippling  shoreward,  dark  and  bright, 
As  lights  and  shadows  and  the  shifting  winds 
Pursue  each  other  in  their  endless  play, 
Is  more  than  the  companionship  of  man. 

I  know  our  inland  landscapes,  pleasant  fields, 

Where  lazy  cattle  browse,  and  chew  the  cud  ; 

The  smooth  declivities  of  quiet  vales ; 

The  swell  of  uplands  and  the  stretch  of  woods, 

Within  whose  shady  places  Solitude 

Holds  her  perpetual  court.     They  touch  me  not, 

Or  only  touch  me  in  my  shallowest  moods, 

And  leave  no  recollection.     They  are  nought. 

But  thou,  O  Sea  !  whose  majesty  and  might 

Are  mild  and  beautiful  in  this  still  bay, 

But  terrible  in  the  mid-ocean  deeps, 

I  never  see  thee  but  my  soul  goes  out 

To  thee,  and  is  sustained  and  comforted ; 

For  she  discovers  in  herself  or  thee 

A  stern  necessity  for  stronger  life, 

And  strength  to  live  it :  she  surrenders  all 

She  had  and  was,  and  is  possessed  of  more, 

With  more  to  come,  —  endurance,  patience,  peace. 

I  love  thee,  Ocean,  and  delight  in  thee  : 

Thy  color,  motion,  vastness,  all  the  eye 

Takes  in  from  shore,  and  on  the  tossing  waves,  — 

Nothing  escapes  me,  not  the  least  of  weeds 


HYMN  TO    THE  SEA.  463 

That  shrivels  and  blackens  on  the  barren  sand. 
I  have  been  walking  on  the  yellow  sands, 
Watching  the  long,  white,  ragged  fringe  of  foam 
The  waves  had  washed  up  on  the  curves  of  beach, 
The  endless  fluctuation  of  the  waves, 
The  circuit  of  the  sea-gulls,  low,  aloft, 
Dipping  their  wings  an  instant  in  the  brine, 
And  urging  their  swift  flight  to  distant  woods ; 
And  round  and  over  all  the  perfect  sky, 
Clear,  cloudless,  luminous,  in  the  summer  noon. 

I  have  been  sitting  on  the  stern  gray  rocks 

That  push  their  way  up  from  the  under-world, 

And  shoulder  the  waves  aside ;  and,  musing  there, 

The  sea  of  Time  has  ebbed  with  me  ;  and  I, 

Borne  backward  with  it,  have  beheld  the  past,  — 

Times,  places,  generations,  all  that  was 

From  the  infancy  of  Earth.     The  primitive  race, 

That  skulked  in  caves,  and  wore  the  skin  of  beasts : 

Shepherds  and  herdsmen,  whose  nomadic  tents 

Were  pitched  by  river-banks  in  pasture-lands, 

Where  no  man  was  before  them  ;  husbandmen, 

Who  shaped  out  for  themselves  rude  implements 

Of  tillage,  and  for  whom  the  Earth  brought  forth 

The  first  of  harvests,  happy  when  the  sheaves 

Were  gathered  in,  for  robber-bands  were  near ; 

Horsemen  with  spears,  who  seized  their  flocks  and  herds, 

And  led  their  wives  and  children  captive  —  all, 

Save  those  who  perished  fighting,  sold  as  slaves. 

Rapine  and  murder  triumph.     I  behold 

The  shock  of  armies  in  forgotten  fields, 

The  flight  of  arrows,  and  the  flash  of  swords, 

Shields  pierced,  and  helmets  cloven,  and  host  gone  down 


464  HYMN  TO    THE  SEA. 

Behind  the  scythed  chariots  :  cities  girt 
By  grim,  beleaguering,  formidable  foes, 
With  battering-rams  that  breach  the  tottering  walls, 
And  crush  the  gaunt  defenders ;  mailed  men 
That  ride  against  each  other,  and  are  unhorsed 
Where  lances  shiver,  and  the  dreadful  sweep 
Of  the  battle-axe  makes  havoc  ;  thunderous  guns 
Belching  destruction  through  the  sulphurous  cloud 
That  wraps  the  league-long  lines  of  infantry ; 
The  charge  of  cavalry  on  hollow  squares, 
Sharp  shots,  and  riderless  horses,  —  this  is  war, 
And  these  are  men,  thy  children,  Earth  !     The  Sea 
Has  never  bred  such  monsters,  though  it  swarms 
With  living  things  ;  they  have  not  overrun 
Its  spacious  realms,  and  left  them  solitudes : 
The  desolation  of  the  unfooted  waves 
Is  not  of  their  dark  making,  but  of  thine, 
Inhospitable,  barren,  solemn  Sea  ! 

Thou  wert  before  the  continents,  before 
The  hollow  heavens,  which,  like  another  sea, 
Encircles  them  and  thee  ;  but  whence  thou  wert, 
And  when  thou  wast  created,  is  not  known. 
Antiquity  was  young  when  thou  wast  old. 
There  is  no  limit  to  thy  strength,  no  end 
To  thy  magnificence.     Thou  goest  forth, 
On  thy  long  journeys,  to  remotest  lands, 
And  comest  back  unwearied.     Tropic  isles, 
Thick-set  with  pillared  palms,  delay  thee  not, 
Nor  arctic  icebergs  hasten  thy  return. 
Summer  and  winter  are  alike  to  thee,  — 
The  settled,  sullen  sorrow  of  the  sky 
Empty  of  light,  the  laughter  of  the  sun, 


HYMN  TO    THE  SEA.  465 

The  comfortable  murmur  of  the  wind 

From  peaceful  countries,  and  the  mad  uproar 

That  storms  let  loose  upon  thee  in  the  night 

Which  they  create,  and  quicken  with  sharp  white  fire, 

And  crash  of  thunders.     Thou  art  terrible 

In  thy  tempestuous  moods,  when  the  loud  winds 

Precipitate  their  strength  against  the  waves  : 

They  rave  and  grapple  and  wrestle,  until  at  last, 

Baffled  by  their  own  violence,  they  fall  back ; 

And  thou  art  calm  again,  no  vestige  left 

Of  the  commotion,  save  the  long,  slow  roll 

In  summer  days  on  beaches  far  away. 

The  heavens  look  down,  and  see  themselves  in  thee, 

And  splendors,  seen  not  elsewhere,  that  surround 

The  rising  and  the  setting  of  the  sun 

Along  thy  vast  and  solitary  realms. 

The  blue  dominion  of  the  air  is  thine. 

And  thine  the  pomps  and  pageants  of  the  day, 

The  light,  the  glory,  the  magnificence, 

The  congregated  masses  of  the  clouds, 

Islands  and  mountains,  and  long  promontories, 

Floating  at  unaccessible  heights  whereto 

Thy  fathomless  .depths  are  shallow,  —  all  are  thine. 

And  thine  the  silent,  happy,  awful  night, 

When  over  thee  and  thy  charmed  waves  the  moon 

Rides  high,  and  when  the  last  of  stars  is  gone, 

And  darkness  covers  all  things  with  its  pall,  — 

Darkness  that  was  before  the  worlds  were  made, 

And  will  be  after  they  are  dead.     But  no  : 

There  is  no  death.     The  thing  that  we  call  death 

Is  but  another,  sadder  name  for  life, 

Which  is  itself  an  insufficient  name., 


466  THE  LORD'S  DAY  GALE. 

Faint  recognition  of  that  unknown  Life,  — 
That  Power  whose  shadow  is  the  universe. 

RICHARD  HENRY  STODDARD. 


THE    LORD'S    DAY    GALE.1 

IN  Gloucester  port  lie  fishing-craft ; 
More  stanch  and  trim  were  never  seen : 
They  are  sharp  before,  and  sheer  abaft, 

And  true  their  lines  the  masts  between. 
Along  the  wharves  of  Gloucester  Town 
Their  fares  are  lightly  landed  down, 
And  the  laden  Qakes  to  sunward  lean. 

Well  know  the  men  each  cruisirig-ground, 
And  where  the  cod  and  mackerel  be ; 

Old  Eastern  Point  the  schooners  round, 
And  leave  Cape  Ann  on  the  larboard  lee : 

Sound  are  the  planks,  the  hearts  are  bold, 

That  brave  December's  surges  cold 
On  George's  Shoals  in  the  outer  sea. 

And  some  must  sail  to  the  Banks  far  north, 
And  set  their  trawls  for  the  hungry  cod, 

In  the  ghostly  fog  creep  back  and  forth 
By  shrouded  paths  no  foot  hath  trod : 

Upon  the  crews  the  ice-winds  blow, 

The  bitter  sleet  in  the  frozen  snow  — 
Their  lives  are  in  the  hand  of  God. 


1  This  poem  is  the  recital  of  a  storm  which  swept  the  Gulf  of  the  St.  Lawrence 
in  August,  1873.  Many  hundreds  of  vessels  were  wrecked  during  the  few  hours 
before  its  fury  was  spent,  strewing  the  coasts  of  Cape  Breton,  Prince  Edward 
Island,  and  the  Magdalen  Islands,  with  drowned  fishermen  and  mariners. 


THE  LORD'S  DAY  GALE.  467 

New  England,  New  England  ! 

Needs  sail  they  must,  so  brave  and  poor, 
Or  June  be  warm,  or  winter  storm, 

Lest  a  wolf  gnaw  through  the  cottage-door. 
Three  weeks  at  home,  three  long  months  gone ; 
While  the  patient  good-wives  sleep  alone, 

And  wake  to  hear  the  breakers  roar. 


The  Grand  Bank  gathers  in  its  dead ; 

The  deep  sea-sand  is  their  winding-sheet 
Who  does  not  George's  billows  dread 

That  dash  together  the  drifting  fleet  ? 
Who  does  not  long  to  hear  in  May 
The  pleasant  wash  of  St.  Lawrence  Bay?  — 

The  fairest  ground  where  fishermen  meet. 

There  the  west  wave  holds  the  red  sunlight 
Till  the  bells  at  home  are  rung  for  nine  : 

Short,  short  the  watch,  and  calm  the  night. 
The  fiery  northern  streamers  shine  ; 

The  eastern  sky  anon  is  gold  ; 

And  winds  from  piny  forests  old 

Scatter  the  white  mists  off  the  brine. 


The  Province  craft  with  ours  at  morn 
Are  mingled  with  the  vapors'  shift : 

All  day,  by  breeze  and  current  borne, 
Across  the  bay  the  sailors  drift. 

With  toil  and  seine  its  wealth  they  win  : 

The  dappled,  silvery  spoil  come  in 
Fast  as  their  hands  can  haul  and  lift. 


468  THE  LORD'S  DAY  GALE. 

New  England,  New  England  ! 

Thou  lovest  well  thine  ocean  main. 
It  spreadeth  its  locks  among  thy  rocks, 

And  long  against  thy  heart  hath  lain. 
Thy  ships  upon  its  bosom  ride, 
And  feel  the  heaving  of  its  tide  : 

To  thee  its  secret  speech  is  plain. 


Cape  Breton  and  Edward  Isle  between, 
In  straight  and  gulf  the  schooners  lay  : 

The  sea  was  all  at  peace,  I  ween, 
The  night  before  that  August  day. 

Was  never  a  Gloucester  skipper  there 

But  thought  erelong,  with  a  right  good  fare, 
To  sail  for  home  from  St.  Lawrence  Bay. 


New  England,  New  England  ! 

Thy  giant's  love  was  turned  to  hate. 
The  winds  control  his  fickle  soul, 

And  in  his  wrath  he  hath  no  mate  : 
Thy  shores  his  angry  scourges  tear ; 
And  for  thy  children  in  his  care 

The  sudden  tempests  lie  in  wait. 

The  East  Wind  gathered,  all  unknown, 
A  thick  sea-cloud  his  course  before  : 

He  left  by  night  the  frozen  zone, 
And  smote  the  cliffs  of  Labrador ; 

He  lashed  the  coasts  on  either  hand, 

And  betxvixt  the  Cape  and  Newfoundland 
Into  the  bay  his  armies  pour. 


THE  LORD'S  DAY  GALE.  469 

He  caught  our  helpless  cruisers  there, 
As  a  gray  wolf  harries  the  huddling  fold  j 

A  sleet,  a  darkness,  filled  the  air, 
A  shuddering  wave  before  it  rolled : 

That  Lord's-day  morn  it  was  a  breeze ; 

At  noon,  a  blast  that  shook  the  seas  ; 
At  night,  a  wind  of  Death  took  hold. 


It  leaped  across  the  Breton  bar, 

A  death-wind  from  the  stormy  east ! 

It  scarred  the  land,  and  whirled  afar 

The  sheltering  thatch  of  man  and  beast; 

It  mingled  rick  and  roof  and  tree, 

And  like  a  besom  swept  the  sea, 
And  churned  the  waters  into  yeast. 


From  St.  Paul's  Light  to  Edward's  Isle 
A  thousand  craft  it  smote  amain ; , 

And  some  against  it  strove  the  while, 
And  more  to  make  a  port  were  fain  : 

The  mackerel-gulls  flew  screaming  past ; 

And  the  stick  that  bent  to  the  noonday  blast 
Was  split  by  the  sundown  hurricane. 

Woe,  woe  to  those  whom  the  islands  pen  ! 

In  vain  they  shun  the  double  capes : 
Cruel  are  the  reefs  of  Magdalen  — 

The  wolfs  white  fang  what  prey  escapes? 
The  Grin 'stone  grinds  the  bones  of  some ; 
And  Coffin  Isle  is  craped  with  foam ; 

On  Deadman's  shore  are  fearful  shapes. 


470  THE  LORD'S  DAY  GALE. 

Oh  !  what  can  live  on  the  open  sea, 
Or,  moored  in  port,  the  gale  outride? 

The  very  craft  that  at  anchor  be 

Are  dragged  along  by  the  swollen  tide. 

The  great  storm-wave  came  rolling  west, 

And  tossed  the  vessels  on  its  crest  : 
The  ancient  bounds  its  might  defied. 

The  ebb  to  check  it  had  no  power ; 

The  surf  ran  up  to  an  untold  height : 
It  rose,  nor  yielded,  hour  by  hour, 

A  night  and  day,  a  day  and  night ; 
Far  up  the  seething  shores  it  cast 
The  wreck  of  hull  and  spar  and  mast, 

The  strangled  crews  —  a  woful  sight. 

There  were  twenty  and  more  of  Breton  sail 
Fast  anchored  on  one  mooring-ground : 

Each  lay  within  his  neighbor's  hail 

When  the  thick  of  the  tempest  closed  them  round 

All  sank  at  once  in  the  gaping  sea : 

Somewhere  on  the  shoals  their  corses  be,  — 
The  foundered  hulks,  and  the  seamen  drowned. 

On  reef  and  bar  our  schooners  drove 

Before  the  wind,  before  the  swell ; 
By  the  steep  sand-cliffs  their  ribs  were  stove  : 

Long,  long,  their  crews  the  tale  shall  tell. 
Of  the  Gloucester  fleet  and  wrecks  threescore, 
Of  the  Province  sail  two  hundred  more, 

Were  stranded  in  that  tempest  fell. 


THE  MORNING    WATCH.  471 

The  bedtime  bells  in  Gloucester  Town 
That  sabbath  night  rang  soft  and  clear : 

The  sailors'  children  laid  them  down,  — 

Dear  Lord  !  their  sweet  prayers  couldst  thou  hear? 

'Tis  said  that  gently  blew  the  winds ; 

The  good-wives,  through  the  seaward  blinds, 
Looked  down  the  bay,  and  had  no  fear. 

New  England,  New  England  ! 

Thy  ports  their  dauntless  seamen  mourn ; 
The  twin  capes  yearn  for  their  return 

Who  never  shall  be  thither  borne ; 
Their  orphans  whisper  as  they  meet ; 
The  homes  are  dark  in  many  a  street, 

And  women  move  in  weeds  forlorn. 

And  wilt  thou  fail,  and  dost  thou  fear? 

Ah,  no  !  though  widows'  cheeks  are  pale, 
And  lads  shall  say,  "  Another  year, 

And  we  shall  be  of  age  to  sail." 
And  the  mothers'  hearts  shall  fill  with  pride, 
Though  tears  drop  fast  for  them  who  died 

When  the  fleet  was  wrecked  in  the  Lord's-day  gale. 

EDMUND  CLARENCE  STEDMAN. 


THE    MORNING    WATCH. 

THE  moon  is  bleached  as  white  as  wool, 
And  just  dropping  under ; 
And  every  star  is  gone  but  three, 

And  they  hang  far  asunder  : 
There's  a  sea-ghost  all  in  gray, 
A  tall  shape  of  wonder. 


472  THE  MORNING    WATCH. 

I  am  not  satisfied  with  sleep, 

The  night  is  not  ended  ; 
But  look  !  how  the  sea-ghost  comes, 

With  wan  skirts  extended, 
Stealing  up  in  this  weird  hour, 

When  light  and  dark  are  blended. 

A  vessel !     To  the  old  pier  end 
Her  happy  course  she's  keeping : 

I  heard  them  name  her  yesterday ; 
Some  were  pale  with  weeping  ; 

Some  with  their  heart-hunger  sighed ; 
She's  in  —  and  they  are  sleeping. 

Oh  !  now  with  fancied  greetings  blest, 
They  comfort  their  long  aching ; 

The  sea  of  sleep  hath  borne  to  them 
What  would  not  come  with  waking, 

And  the  dreams  shall  most  be  true 
In  their  blissful  breaking. 

The  stars  are  gone,  the  rose-bloom  comes ; 

No  blush  of  maid  is  sweeter : 
The  red  sun,  half-way  out  of  bed, 

Shall  be  the  first  to  greet  her. 
None  tell  the  news  ;  yet  sleepers  wake, 

And  rise,  and  run  to  meet  her. 

Their  lost  they  have,  they  hold  ;  from  pain 

A  keener  bliss  they  borrow  : 
How  natural  is  joy,  my  heart ! 

How  easy  after  sorrow  ! 
For  once,  the  best  is  come  that  hope 

Promised  them  "to-morrow." 

JEAN  INGELOW. 


VI NET  A,  473 

VINETA. 

FROM  the  sea's  deep,  deep  unfathomed  distance, 
Evening  bells  are  chiming  faint  and  low, 
Telling  us,  with  sorrowful  insistence, 
Of  that  fairest  town  of  long  ago. 

In  the  bosom  of  the  ocean,  hidden 

Far  beneath,  those  ruins  still  remain  ; 
While  their  towers,  with  golden  gleams,  unbidden, 

Flash  us  back  their  ancient  light  again. 

And  the  sailor,  if  such  magic  beauty 

Greet  him  as  the  sun  is  going  down, 
Sails  forever  on  this  course  of  duty, 

Though  around  him  all  the  crags  may  frown. 


From  the  heart's  deep,  deep  unfathomed  distance, 
Sounds  arise,  like  bells  most  faint  and  low ; 

Ah  !  they  tell,  with  sorrowful  insistence, 
Of  the  love  that  loved  us  long  ago. 

What  a  fairy  world  has  there  been  hidden  ! 

How  its  ruins  far  below  remain  ! 
Casting  heavenly  gleams  at  times,  unbidden, 

Up  to  sparkle  in  my  dreams  again. 

Oh  that  I  might  plunge  in  those  abysses, 

Sink  myself  in  that  remembered  light, 
Called,  as  by  an  angel,  to  the  blisses 

In  that  dear  old  Wonder-town  so  bright ! 

FROM  THE  GERMAN  OF  WILHELM  MUU.ER. 

TRANSLATION  OF  SAMUEL  W.  DUFFIELD. 


474  BY  THE  NORTH  SEA. 

BY    THE    NORTH    SEA. 
(PART  n.) 

FOR  the  heart  of  the  waters  is  cruel, 
And  the  kisses  are  dire  of  their  lips, 
And  their  waves  are  as  fire  is  to  fuel, 

To  the  strength  of  the  seafaring  ships, 
Though  the  sea's  eye  gleam  as  a  jewel 
To  the  sun's  eye  back  as  he  dips. 

Though  the  sun's  eye  flash  to  the  sea's 
Live  light  of  delight  and  of  laughter, 

And  her  lips  breathe  back  to  the  breeze 
The  kiss  that  the  wind's  lips  waft  her 

From  the  sun  that  subsides,  and  sees 
No  gleam  of  the  storm's  dawn  after. 

And  the  wastes  of  the  wild  sea-marches 

Where  the  borders  are  matched  in  their  might, 

Bleak  fens  that  the  sun's  weight  parches, 
Dense  waves  that  reject  the  light, 

Change  under  the  change-colored  arches 
Of  changeless  morning  and  night. 

The  waves  are  as  ranks  enrolled, 

Too  close  for  the  storm  to  sever ; 
The  fens  lie  naked  and  cold, 

But  their  hearts  fail  utterly  never  : 
The  lists  are  set  from  of  old, 

And  the  warfare  endureth  forever. 

ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


FROM  "  THE  SHIPWRECK:'  475 

FROM  "THE  SHIPWRECK." 

BUT  now  Athenian  mountains  they  descry, 
And  o'er  the  surge  Colonna  frowns  on  high, 
Where  marble  columns,  long  by  time  defaced, 
Moss-covered  on  the  lofty  Cape  are  placed, 
There  reared  by  fair  devotion  to  sustain 
In  elder  times  Tritonia's  sacred  fane  ; 
The  circling  beach  in  murderous  form  appears, 
Decisive  goal  of  all  their  hopes  and  fears. 

The  vessel,  while  the  dread  event  draws  nigh, 
Seems  more  impatient  o'er  the  waves  to  fly ; 
Fate  spurs  her  on.     Thus,  issuing  from  afar, 
Advances  to  the  sun  some  blazing  star, 
And,  as  it  feels  attraction's  kindling  force, 
Springs  onward  with  accelerated  course. 

In  vain  the  cords  and  axes  were  prepared, 
For  every  wave  now  smites  the  quivering  yard ; 
High  o'er  the  ship  they  throw  a  dreadful  shade, 
Then  on  her  burst  in  terrible  cascade, 
Across  the  foundered  deck  o'erwhelming  roar, 
And  foaming,  swelling,  bound  upon  the  shore. 
Swift  up  the  mounting  billow  now  she  flies, 
Her  shattered  top  half  buried  in  the  skies. 
Borne  o'er  a  latent  reef  the  hull  impends, 
Then  thundering  on  the  marble  crags  descends : 
Her  ponderous  bulk  the  dire  concussion  feels, 
And  o'er  upheaving  surges  wounded  reels. 
Again  she  plunges  !     Hark  !  a  second  shock 
Bilges  the  splitting  vessel  on  the  rock. 


476       SONG  FROM  "THE    WATER  BABIES." 

Down  on  the  vale  of  death,  with  dismal  cries, 
The  fated  victims  shuddering  cast  their  eyes 
In  wild  despair,  while  yet  another  stroke 
With  strong  convulsion  rends  the  solid  oak. 
Ah,  heavens  !  behold  her  crashing  ribs  divide  ! 
She  loosens,  parts,  and  spreads  in  ruin  o'er  the  tide. 

As  o'er  the  surf  the  bending  mainmast  hung, 
Still  on  the  rigging  thirty  seamen  clung. 
Some  on  a  broken  crag  were  struggling  cast, 
And  there  by  oozy  tangles  grappled  fast ; 
Awhile  they  bore  the  o'erwhelming  billows'  rage, 
Unequal  combat  with  their  fate  to  wage, 
Till,  all  benumbed  and  feeble,  they  forego 
Their  slippery  hold,  and  sink  to  shades  below ; 
Some,  from  the  main  yard-arm  impetuous  thrown 
On  marble  ridges,  die  without  a  groan. 

Now  on  the  mountain-wave  on  high  they  ride, 
Then  downward  plunge  beneath  the  involving  tide ; 
Till  one,  who  seems  in  agony  to  strive, 
The  whirling  breakers  heave  on  shore  alive  : 
The  rest  a  speedier  end  of  anguish  knew, 
And  pressed  the  stony  beach  —  a  lifeless  crew. 

ROBERT  FALCONER. 


SONG    FROM    "THE    WATER    BABIES. 


and  cool,  clear  and  cool, 
By  laughing  shallow,  and  dreaming  pool; 
Cool  and  clear,  cool  and  clear, 
By  shining  shingle,  and  foaming  wear  ; 


THE   "ARETHUSA."  477 

Under  the  crag  where  the  ouzel  sings, 

And  the  ivied  wall  where  the  church-bell  rings. 

Undefiled,  for  the  undefiled  : 
Play  by  me,  bathe  in  me,  mother  and  child. 

Dank  and  foul,  dank  and  foul, 
By  the  smoky  town  in  its  murky  cowl ; 

Foul  and  dank,  foul  and  dank, 
By  wharf  and  sewer  and  slimy  bank ; 
Darker  and  darker,  the  farther  I  go, 
Baser  and  baser,  the  richer  I  grow : 

Who  dare  sport  with  the  sin-defiled  ? 
Shrink  from  me,  turn  from  me,  mother  and  child. 

Strong  and  free,  strong  and  free, 
The  flood-gates  are  open,  away  to  the  sea  ; 

Free  and  strong,  free  and  strong, 

Cleansing  my  streams  as  I  hurry  along 
To  the  golden  sands,  and  the  leaping  bar, 
And  the  taintless  tide  that  awaits  me  afar, 
As  I  lose  myself  in  the  infinite  main, 
Like  a  soul  that  has  sinned,  and  is  pardoned  again. 

Undefiled,  for  the  undefiled  : 
Play  by  me,  bathe  in  me,  mother  and  child. 

CHARLES  KINGSLEY. 


THE    "  ARETHUSA." 

COME,  all  ye  jolly  sailors  bold, 
Whose  hearts  are  cast  in  honor's  mould, 
While  English  glory  I  unfold : 
Huzza  to  the  "  Arethusa  "  ! 


478  THE   "ARETHUSA." 

She  is  a  frigate  tight  and  brave 

As  ever  stemmed  the  dashing  wave  : 

Her  men  are  stanch 

To  their  favorite  launch  ; 
And,  when  the  foe  shall  meet  our  fire, 
Sooner  than  strike,  will  all  expire 

On  board  the  "  Arethusa." 

Twas  with  old  Keppel  she  went  out 
The  English  Channel  to  cruise  about, 
When  four  French  sail  in  show  so  stout, 

Bore  down  on  the  "  Arethusa." 
The  famed  "  Belle  Poule  "  straight  ahead  did  lie. 
The  "  Arethusa  "  seemed  to  fly  : 

Not  a  sheet  or  a  tack 

Or  a  brace  did  she  slack, 

Though  the  Frenchman  laughed,  and  thought  it  stuff; 
But  they  knew  not  the  handful  of  men  how  tough, 

On  board  the  "Arethusa." 

On  deck  five  hundred  men  did  dance, 
The  stoutest  they  could  find  in  France  : 
We  with  t\vo  hundred  did  advance, 

On  board  the  "  Arethusa." 
Our  captain  hailed  the  Frenchman,  "  Ho  ! 

Bear  down,  d'ye  see, 

To  our  admiral's  lee." 

"  No,  no,"  says  the  Frenchman,  "  that  can't  be  !  " 
"  Then  I  must  bring  you  along  with  me," 

Says  the  saucy  "  Arethusa." 

The  fight  was  off  the  Frenchman's  land : 
We  forced  them  back  upon  their  strand ; 


DOVER  BEACH.  479 

For  we  fought  till  not  a  stick  would  stand 

On  board  the  "  Arethusa." 
And  since  we've  driven  the  foe  ashore, 
Never  to  fight  the  Britons  more, 

Let  each  fill  a  glass  to  his  favorite  lass  \ 
A  health  to  our  captain  and  officers  too, 
And  all  who  belong  to  the  jovial  crew 

On  board  the  "Arethusa." 

PRINCE  HOARE. 


DOVER    BEACH. 

THE  sea  is  calm  to-night. 
The  tide  is  full,  the  moon  lies  fair 
Upon  the  Straits  ;  on  the  French  coast  the  light 
Gleams,  and  is  gone ;  the  cliffs  of  England  stand 
Glimmering  and  vast  out  in  the  tranquil  bay. 
Come  to  the  window :  sweet  is  the  night-air  ! 
Only,  from  the  long  line  of  spray 
Where  the  sea  meets  the  moon-blanched  sand, 
Listen  !  you  hear  the  grating  roar 
Of  pebbles  which  the  waves  draw  back,  and  fling, 
At  their  return,  up  the  high  strand, 
Begin  and  cease,  and  then  again  begin, 
With  tremulous  cadence  slow,  and  bring 
The  eternal  note  of  sadness  in. 

Sophocles  long  ago 

Heard  it  on  the  ^Egean,  and  it  brought 

Into  his  mind  the  turbid  ebb  and  flow 

Of  human  misery  :  we 

Find  also  in  the  sound  a  thought, 

Hearing  it  by  this  distant  northern  sea. 


480  MARINER'S  HYMN. 

The  sea  of  faith 

Was  once,  too,  at  the  full,  and  round  earth's  shore 

Lay,  like  the  folds  of  a  bright  girdle,  furled. 

But  now  I  only  hear 

Its  melancholy,  long  withdrawing  roar, 

Retreating  to  the  breath 

Of  the  night-wind,  down  the  vast  edges  drear, 

And  naked  shingles  of  the  world. 

Ah,  love  !  let  us  be  true 

To  one  another ;  for  the  world,  which  seems 

To  lie  before  us  like  a  land  of  dreams, 

So  various,  so  beautiful,  so  new, 

Hath  really  neither  joy  nor  love  nor  light, 

Nor  certitude  nor  peace,  nor  help  for  pain ; 

And  we  are  here  as  in  a  drifting  plain, 

Swept  with  confused  alarms  of  struggle  and  fright 

When  ignorant  armies  clash  by  night. 

MATTHEW  ARNOLD. 
MARINER'S    HYMN. 

LAUNCH  thy  bark,  mariner  ! 
Christian,  God  speed  thee  ! 
Let  loose  the  rudder-bands, 

Good  angels  lead  thee  ! 
Set  thy  sails  warily, 

Tempests  will  come ; 
Steer  thy  course  steadily : 
Christian,  steer  home  ! 

Look  to  the  weather-bow, 

Breakers  are  round  thee ; 
Let  fall  the  plummet  now, 

Shallows  may  ground  thee. 


MARINER'S  HYMN.  481 

Reef  in  the  foresail  there  ! 

Hold  the  helm  fast ! 
So  —  let  the  vessel  wear  — 

There  swept  the  blast. 

"  What  of  the  night,  watchman  ? 

What  of  the  night?" 
"  Cloudy,  all  quiet, 

No  land  yet:  all's  right." 
Be  wakeful,  be  vigilant, 

Danger  may  be 
At  an  hour  when  all  seemeth 

Securest  to  thee. 

How  !  gains  the  leak  so  fast  ? 

Clear  out  the  hold  ! 
Hoist  up  the  merchandise  ! 

Heave  out  thy  gold  ! 
There  —  let  the  ingots  go  ; 

Now  the  ship  rights. 
Hurrah  !  the  harbor's  near  ! 

Lo,  the  red  lights  ! 

Slacken  not  sail  yet 

At  inlet  or  island ; 
Straight  for  the  beacon  steer, 

Straight  for  the  high  land  ; 
Crowd  all  thy  canvas  on, 

Cut  through  the  foam  ! 
Christian,  cast  anchor  now, 

Heaven  is  thy  home. 

CAROLINE  SOUTHEV. 


482  ALCYONE. 

ALCYONE. 

"  A  TAY,  leave  me  not ! "  she  cried ;  and  her  bared  arms, 
l\l    Wherefrom  the  saffron  robe  flowed  back,  as  waves 
That  on  white  Naxos  break,  still  closer  clung. 

"  So  newly  am  I  come  within  thy  walls, 
That  still  I  crave  a  sense  of  welcome  nigh 
To  banish  strangeness ;  and  I  scarce  do  feel 
My  title  to  thy  home's  sweet  sovereignties, 
Unless  that  thou  be  by  to  prove  it  good. 
I  seem  no  alien  when  I  turn  to  thee 
With  questioning  looks  that  read  their  answer  writ 
Large-lettered  on  thy  brow.     But,  missing  thee, 
I  sigh  o'er  many  a  precious  love  foregone, 
Brooding  on  it,  that  none  of  all  I  cherished, 
The  tender  playmates  of  my  rock-bound  isle, 
My  surf-washed  Strongyle,  do  smile  me  back 
The  fond,  old  time,  or  with  home-voice  recall 
My  happy  bygone.     If  thou  goest  abroad, 
I  droop  perforce.     The  past,  for  which  thy  presence 
No  sea-room  grants,  beats  strong  against  my  heart, 
As  on  our  cliffs  the  surge  was  wont  to  beat ; 
And  yet  how  quick  its  ebb  when  thou  dost  come 
To  fill  its  hollowed  depths  !  " 

"  Thy  moaning,  Sweet, 
Is  sad  as  Cyprian  doves',  when  from  her  isle 
Their  goddess  wanders.     Love  doth  overstate 
The  soft  self-pity  of  thy  loneliness  : 
Thou  knowest  the  violets  hoard  their  odors  best 
In  the  night-absence  of  their  lord,  the  sun." 
And  Ceyx  pointed  to  the  land-locked  bay 


ALCYONE.  483 

Where  rocked  his  vessel.     "  Not  more  smooth,"  he  said, 

"  Thy  molten  mirror  than  yon  crystal  sea. 

Confess  thy  fears'  forecastings,  little  one, 

Have  like  a  goad  behind  thy  pleadings  pricked 

Keener  than  love  doth,  hurrying  on  thy  speech, 

And  honeying  it  with  artifice.     Well,  let 

The  bee  snatch  at  the  rosy  lure,  yet  so 

'Scape  it  withal ! "     And  smilingly  he  sealed 

With  fast-shut  kiss  the  dewy-parted  lips. 

"  But  heed  thou  not  thy  pillow's  scared  unrest, 
That  drones  to  thee  of  peril  when  I  am  gone. 
Left  now  alone,  keep  thou  my  state  upholden 
With  self-assertion  of  thy  dignities 
Of  gracious  wifehood,  sure  that  in  my  heart, 
Thy  royal  realm,  love  busies  all  the  hours, 
Building  a  palace  fit  to  be  thy  home. 

"  To  Claros  swiftly  borne,  my  doubts  dissolved 

Before  the  Oracle,  I'll  haste  to  mount 

The  homeward  wave  ;  and  passion,  gathering  strength, 

And  overtopping  hindering  circumstance, 

Soon  on  thy  breast  shall  break,  and  ripple  up 

In  creamy  kisses,  stranded  on  thy  mouth. 

"What?  —  eyes  still  cloud-wracked  as  the  hidden  top 

Of  blue  Olympus?  .  .  .  Know  the  Immortal  Gods 

Claim  loyal  service,  and  I  dare  not  put 

O'er  it  supreme  this  too-sufficing  love, 

Lest  they  do  frown  on  us  with  harmful  brows. 

Then  let  me  go ;  and  thou,  meanwhile,  high  heap 

Apollo's  shrine,  for  thy  on-wafting  prayers 

Will  speed  me  surelier  than  the  kindest  winds 

By  Zephyrus  loosed." 


484  ALCYONE. 

With  rapid  sail  full  set 

Toward  the  far  isle,  King  Ceyx  from  the  deck 
Waved  light  farewells  to  her,  his  weeping  bride, 
Who  stood  with  outstretched  arms  on  the  white  sands, 
Even  as  he  gazed,  doting  upon  the  tears, 
The  breathless  throbs,  and  palpitating  doubts, 
Wherewith  Alcyone's  so  wifely  love 
Had  wrapped  itself,  as  'twere  a  drapery  flung 
In  zoneless  sweep  above  the  sanctity 
Of  foamy  swell  and  billowy  curve,  whose  grace 
Was  heightened  thus,  not  hidden. 

Days  passed  amain, 

Yet  brought  small  respite  to  the  mind  distraught 
With  fateful  prescience  and  consuming  dread. 
The  girdle,  that  with  wealth  of  needlecraft 
'Gainst  his  return  she  wrought,  slipped  listlessly 
Down  from  her  lap ;  and  tuneless  lay  the  lyre 
She  used  to  touch  for  him,  as  eve  by  eve, 
Her  vision  dazed  with  travelling  o'er  so  oft 
The  golden  path  he  went  athwart  the  main, 
With  boding  heart  she  watched  his  coming. 

Thus, 

Among  her  cushions,  with  her  wistful  face 
Turned  seaward,  so  the  first  white  glint  of  sail 
Might  greet  her  sight,  ere  she  was  'ware,  she  slept, 
And  sleeping  dreamed.     She  saw  above  her  bend 
The  mist-crowned  Thetis,  every  look  informed 
With  pity  goddess-like ;  and  on  her  ear 
Fell  word  as  sad  as  whispering  Oreads'  hid 
In  piny  forests  :  — 


ALCYONE.  485 

"  Thou  shalt  watch  in  vain, 

0  sorrowful !  —  shalt  wait  and  watch  in  vain  ; 
For  nevermore  the  sail  that  hence  hath  borne 
Thy  darling  shall  come  back  again  to  thee 
Out  from  the  purple  deep,  where  low  he  lies 
Crouched  in  fair  Aphrodite's  coral  caves." 

Upstarting  from  her  dream,  Alcyone 

Uttered  a  cry  of  woe,  and,  calling  round 

Her  household-maidens,  straightway  to  the  beach 

That  stretched  afar  beneath  the  new-risen  moon, 

Hasted,  her  hair  unbound,  her  milk-white  feet 

Unsandalled,  and  her  quick-caught  garments  flung 

Girdleless  to  the  breeze. 

Along  the  shore 

Wailing  she  strayed,  reaching  her  pleading  arms 
To  woo  him  from  the  inexorable  sea :  — 

"  O  best !  O  dearest !  come  to  me  once  more  ! 
Again  —  oh,  come  again  !     All  life,  all  hope, 
All  cheer,  my  soul  can  ever  know,  all  good, 

1  hold  alone  through  thee.     Give  back  thyself, 
Thyself,  to  me.     I  perish  else  —  I  perish  ! 

—  Gods  !     Dare  ye  babble,  ye  weakling  comforters, 
Of  other  solace  left  ?  ...  As  if  this  drear, 
Wide,  empty  world  could  hold  one  joy  beside, 
My  king  being  gone  !     Offer  yon  salty  spray 
To  lips  that  parch  with  deadly  thirst,  and  think 
To  quench  it !     Oh,  my  lord,  my  lord  !  my  life  ! 
Better  to  me  than  all  the  dwellers  in  heaven, 
Dearer  to  me  than  all  the  peopled  earth  : 
I  die  without  thee  !  " 


486  ALCYONE. 

Moaning  thus  she  went, 

Her  handmaids  following,  weeping  at  the  dole 
They  shrank  to  soothe,  until  she  reached  a  jut 
Of  headland,  at  whose  base  the  waters  chafed 
With  ceaseless  lap  and  fret.     Gazing  therefrom, 
Her  feverish  vision  seized  upon  a  blot 
Of  darkness  on  the  silvery  line  of  beach, 
And  turning  to  her  followers,  all  dilate 
With  wide-eyed  apprehension,  thitherward 
She  dumbly  pointed. 

Ere  their  lips  found  words, 

Fast  down  the  ledge  of  splintered  rock  she  sped, 
With  delicate  feet  that  left  the  wounding  flints 
Crimson-besprent. 

Soon  as  she  gained  the  strand, 
And  neared  the  blackening  speck,  upon  the  night 
Came  wafted  upward  to  the  listeners'  ears 
A  shriek  of  such  unutterable  bale 
As  held  them  rooted  to  the  lichened  shelve 
With  horror ;  for  it  told,  what  not  their  fears 
Had  shaped  into  a  thought,  that  the  worst  woe 
That  could  befall  their  mistress  had  befallen,  — 
That  whom  she  sought  she  found,  —  her  husband  —  dead, 
Dead,  drifted  shoreward,  as  an  ocean-weed. 
They  saw  her  rush  with  wringing  hands  to  fling 
Herself  upon  him  ;  but  betwixt  the  drowned 
And  living  swept  a  refluent  wave  that  sucked 
The  lifeless  form  back  to  the  gulfing  deep  ; 
And  from  the  scarped  cliff  the  gazers  heard 
The  breeze-borne  words  :  — 

"  To  thee  I  come,  —  I  come, 
Beloved,  since  thou  mayst  not  come  to  me  ! 


FUNERAL   AT  SEA.  487 

Reach  out  thine  arms  above  the  bitter  brine, 
And  let  me  leap  to  meet  thee  —  thus  "  — 

They  caught 

A  gleam  of  flickering  robes,  a  quick,  dull  plash, 
The  sullen  gurgle  of  recoiling  waves, 
The  clamorous  screaming  of  a  startled  gull 
That  flapped  its  wings  o'erhead,  but  saw  no  more, 
For  all  their  searchings  through  the  moonlit  night ; 
For  all  their  desolate  wailings,  nevermore 
The  woe-worn  face  of  sad  Alcyone. 

When  wintry  storms  were  spent,  and  lenient  airs 

Smoothed  with  caressing  hand  the  furrowed  surge 

Within  yEgean  seas,  the  voyager, 

Watching  the  halcyon  with  his  brooding  mate 

Nested  upon  the  waters  tranquilly 

As  midst  Thessalian  myrtles,  said,  — 

"Behold 

Alcyone  and  Ceyx  !     We  shall  have 
Fair  weather  for  our  sailing." 

MARGARET  J.  PRESTON. 


FUNERAL    AT    SEA. 

THE  summer  sun  is  riding  high 
Amid  a  bright  and  cloudless  sky, 
Beneath  whose  deep  o'er-arching  blue 
The  circle  of  the  Atlantic  sea, 
Reflecting  back  a  deeper  hue, 
Is  heaving  peacefully. 

The  winds  are  still ;  the  ship  with  idle  motion 
Rocks  gently  on  the  gentle  ocean  ; 
Loose  hang  her  sails,  awaiting  when  the  breeze 


48S  FUNERAL   AT  SEA. 

Again  shall  wake  to  waft  her  on  her  way. 

Glancing  beside,  the  dolphins,  as  they  play, 

Their  gorgeous  tints  suffused  with  gold  display ; 

And  gay  bonitos  in  their  beauty  glide. 

With  arrowy  speed,  in  close  pursuit, 

They  through  the  azure  waters  shoot : 

A  feebler  shoal  before  them  in  affright 

Spring  from  the  wave,  and  in  short  flight, 

On  wet  and  plumeless  wing  essay 

The  aerial  element. 

The  greedy  followers,  on  the  chase  intent, 

Dart  forward  still  with  keen  and  upturned  sight, 

And,  to  their  proper  danger  blind  the  while, 

Heed  not  the  sharks,  which  have  for  many  a  day 

Hovered  behind  the  ship,  presentient  of  their  prey. 

So  fair  a  season  might  persuade 

Yon  crew  to  try  the  fisher's  trade ; 

Yet  from  the  stern  no  line  is  hung, 

Nor  bait  by  eager  sea- boy  flung ; 

Nor  doth  the  watchful  sailor  stand 

Alert  to  strike,  harpoon  in  hand. 

Upon  the  deck  assembled,  old  and  young, 

Bareheaded  all  in  reverence,  see  them  there  ! 

Behold  where,  hoisted  halfmast  high, 

The  English  flag  hangs  mournfully ; 

And  hark  !     What  solemn  sounds' are  these 

Heard  in  the  silence  of  the  seas? 

"  Man  that  is  born  of  woman,  short  his  time, 
And  full  of  woe  :  he  springeth  like  a  flower, 
Or  like  the  grass,  that,  green  at  morning  prime, 
Is  cut  and  withereth  ere  the  evening  hour : 


FUNERAL   AT  SEA.  489 

Never  doth  he  continue  in  one  stay, 
But  like  a  shadow  doth  he  pass  away." 
It  was  that  awful  strain,  which  saith 
How  in  the  midst  of  life  we  are  in  death. 
"  Yet  not  forever,  O  Lord  God  most  high  ! 
Saviour  !  yet  not  forever  shall  we  die." 


Ne'er  from  a  voice  more  eloquent  did  prayer 

Arise,  with  fervent  piety  sincere  ; 

To  every  heart  of  all  the  listening  crew 

It  made  its  way,  and  drew 

Even  from  the  hardy  seaman's  eyes  a  tear. 

"  God,"  he  pursued,  "  hath  taken  to  himself 

The  soul  of  our  departed  sister  dear ; 

We  then  commit  her  body  to  the  deep." 

He  paused,  and  at  the  word 

The  coffin's  plunge  was  heard. 


A  female  voice  of  anguish  then  brake  forth 

With  'sobs  convulsive  of  a  heart  oppressed. 

It  was  a  daughter's  agonizing  cry. 

But  soon  hath  she  repressed 

The  fit  of  passionate  grief, 

And,  listening  patiently, 

In  that  religious  effort  gained  relief. 

Beside  the  gray-haired  captain  doth  she  stand  :; 

One  arm  is  linked  in  his ;  the  other  hand 

Hid  with  the  handkerchief  her  face,  and  pressed 

Her  eyes,  whence  burning  tears  continuous  flow. 

Down  hung  her  head  upon  her  breast ; 

And  thus  the  maiden  stood  in  silent  woe. 


490  FUNERAL   A  T  SEA. 

Again  was  heard  the  preacher's  earnest  voice  : 

It  bade  the  righteous  in  their  faith  rejoice, 

Their  sure  and  certain  hope  in  Christ ;  for  blest 

In  him  are  they  who  from  their  labors  rest. 

It  rose  into  a  high  thanksgiving  strain, 

And  praised  the  Lord,  who  from  a  world  of  pain 

Had  now  been  pleased  to  set  his  servant  free  : 

"  Hasten  thy  kingdom,  Lord,  that  all  may  rest  in  thee  !  " 

In  manhood's  fairest  prime  was  he  who  prayed, 

Even  in  the  flower  and  beauty  of  his  youth. 

These  holy  words  and  fervent  tones  portrayed 

The  feelings  of  his  inmost  soul  sincere ; 

For  scarce  two  months  had  filled  their  short  career, 

Since  from  the  grave  of  her  who  gave  him  birth 

That  sound  had  struck  upon  his  ear, 

When  to  the  doleful  words  of  "  Earth  to  earth  " 

Its  dead  response  the  sensless  coffin  gave. 

Oh  !  who  can  e'er  forget  that  echo  of  the  grave  ! 

Now,  in  the  grace  of  God  dismissed, 
They  separate  as  they  may, 
To  narrow  limits  of  the  ship  confined. 
.    Nor  did  the  impression  lightly  pass  away 
Even  from  the  unreflecting  sailor's  mind. 
They  pitied  that  sweet  maiden,  all  bereft, 
Alone  on  shipboard,  among  strangers  left. 
They  spake  of  that  young  preacher,  day  by  day,  — 
How,  while  the  fever  held  its  fatal  course, 
He  ministered  at  the  patient  sufferer's  side, 
Holding  of  faith  and  hope  his  high  discourse ; 
And  how,  when  all  had  joined  in  humble  prayer, 
She  solemnly  confided  to  his  care, 


•g  • 


FROM  "CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE."      491 

Till  to  her  father's  hands  she  could  be  given, 
Her  child  forlorn,  and  blessed  him,  ere  she  died. 
They  called  to  mind  how  peaceful,  how  serene, 
Like  one  who  seemed  already  half  in  heaven, 
After  that  act  she  yielded  up  her  breath. 
And  sure  they  wished  their  end  like  hers,  I  ween, 
And  for  a  comforter  like  him  in  death. 

ROBERT  SOUTHEY. 


i 


FROM    "THE    SPANISH    GYPSY." 
(LAST  LINES.) 

T  was  night 

Before  the  ships  weighed  anchor, 
and  gave  sail,  — 

Fresh  night,  emergent  in  her  clearness,  lit 
By  the  large  crescent  moon,  with  Hesperus 
And  those  great  stars  that  lead  the  eager  host. 
Fedalma  stood  and  watched  the  little  bark 
Lying  jet-black  upon  moon-whitened  waves. 
Silva  was  standing  too.     He,  too,  divined 
A  steadfast  form  that  held  him  with  its  thought, 
And  eyes  that  sought  him  vanishing  :  he  saw 
The  waters  widen  slowly,  till  at  last 
Straining,  he  gazed,  and  knew  not  if  he  gazed 
On  aught  but  blackness  overhung  by  stars. 

GEORGE  ELIOT. 
FROM    "CHILDE    HAROLD'S    PILGRIMAGE." 

ROLL  on,  thou  deep  and  dark  blue  Ocean  —  roll ! 
Ten  thousand  fleets  sweep  over  thee  in  vain ; 
Man  marks  the  earth  with  ruin  ;  his  control 
Stops  with  the  shore ;  upon  the  watery  plain 


492      FROM  "CHILDE  HAROLD'S  PILGRIMAGE." 

The  wrecks  are  all  thy  deed,  nor  doth  remain 
A  shadow  of  man's  ravage,  save  his  own, 
When  for  a  moment,  like  a  drop  of  rain, 
He  sinks  into  thy  depths  with  bubbling  groan, 
Without  a  grave,  unknelled,  uncoffined,  and  unknown. 

His  steps  are  not  upon  thy  paths  —  thy  fields 
Are  not  a  spoil  for  him  —  thou  dost  arise 
And  shake  him  from  thee ;  the  vile  strength  he  wields 
For  earth's  destruction  thou  dost  all  despise, 
Spurning  him  from  thy  bosom  to  the  skies, 
And  send'st  him,  shivering  in  thy  playful  spray, 
And  howling,  to  his  gods,  where  haply  lies 
His  petty  hope  in  some  near  port  or  bay, 
And  dashest  him  again  to  earth  :  there  let  him  lay. 

The  armaments  which  thunderstrike  the  walls 
Of  rock-built  cities,  bidding  nations  quake, 
And  monarchs  tremble  in  their  capitals, 
The  oak  leviathans,  whose  huge  ribs  make 
Their  clay  creator  the  vain  title  take 
Of  lord  of  thee,  and  arbiter  of  war : 
These  are  thy  toys,  and,  as  the  snowy  flake, 
They  melt  into  thy  yeast  of  waves,  which  mar 
Alike  the  Armada's  pride,  or  spoils  of  Trafalgar. 

Thy  shores  are  empires,  changed  in  all  save  thee  — 
Assyria,  Greece,  Rome,  Carthage,  what  are  they? 
Thy  waters  wasted  them  while  they  were  free, 
And  many  a  tyrant  since  ;  their  shores  obey 
The  stranger,  slave,  or  savage  ;  their  decay 
Has  dried  up  realms  to  deserts  :  not  so  thou, 
Unchangeable  save  to  thy  wild  waves'  play  — 


LEFT  ASHORE.  493 

Time  writes  no  wrinkle  on  thine  azure  brow  — 
Such  as  creation's  dawn  beheld,  thou  rollest  now. 

Thou  glorious  mirror,  where  the  Almighty's  form 
Glasses  itself  in  tempests ;  in  all  time, 
Calm  or  convulsed,  —  in  breeze,  or  gale,  or  storm, 
Icing  the  pole,  or  in  the  torrid  clime 
Dark-heaving,  boundless,  endless,  and  sublime, 
The  image  of  Eternity,  the  throne 
Of  the  Invisible ;  even  from  out  thy  slime 
The  monsters  of  the  deep  are  made ;  each  zone 
Obeys  thee  :  thou  goest  forth,  dread,  fathomless,  alone. 

And  I  have  loved  thee,  Ocean  !  and  my  joy 
Of  youthful  sports  was  on  thy  breast  to  be 
Borne,  like  thy  bubbles,  onward  :  from  a  boy 
I  wantoned  with  thy  breakers  —  they  to  me 
Were  a  delight ;  and  if  the  freshening  sea 
Made  them  a  terror,  'twas  a  pleasing  fear ; 
For  I  was,  as  it  were,  a  child  of  thee, 
And  trusted  to  thy  billows  far  and  near, 
And  laid  my  hand  upon  thy  main  —  as  I  do  here. 

GEORGE  GORDON  NOEL  BYRON. 


LEFT    ASHORE. 

SOFTLY  it  stole  up  out  of  the  sea, 
The  day  that  brought  my  dole  to  me ; 
Slowly  into  the  star-sown  gray, 
Dim  and  dappled,  it  soared  away. 
Who  would  have  dreamed  such  tender  light 
Was  brimmng  over  with  bale  and  blight? 


494  LEFT  ASHORE. 

Who  would  have  dreamed  that  fitful  breeze 
Fanned  from  the  tumult  of  tossing  seas  ? 
Oh  !  softly  and  slowly  stole  up  from  the  sea 
The  day  that  brought  my  dole  to  me. 

Glad  was  I  at  the  open  door 

While  my  footfall  lingered  along  the  floor, 

For  three  bright  heads  at  the  dawn  of  day 

Close  on  the  selfsame  pillow  lay  ; 

Three  sweet  mouths  I  bent  and  kissed, 

As  the  gold  and  rose  and  amethyst 

Of  the  eastern  sky  was  round  us  shed ; 

And  three  little  happy  faces  sped 

To  the  dancing  boat,  and  he  went  too  — 

And  lightly  the  wind  that  morning  blew. 

Many  a  time  had  one  and  all 

Gone  out  before  to  the  deep-sea  haul ; 

Many  a  time  come  rowing  back 

Against  the  tide  of  the  Merrimac, 

With  shining  freight,  and  a  reddening  sail 

Flapping  loose  in  the  idle  gale, 

While  over  them  faded  the  evening  glow, 

With  stars  above,  and  with  stars  below, 

Trolling  and  laughing,  a  welcome  din, 

To  me  and  the  warm  shore  making  in. 

Then  why  that  day,  as  I  watched  the  boat, 
Did  I  remember  the  midnight  rote 
That  rolled  a  signal  across  my  sleep 
Of  the  storm  that  cried  from  deep  to  deep, 
Plunging  along  in  its  eager  haste 
Across  the  desert  and  desolate  waste, 


LEFT  ASHORE. 


495 


Far  off  through  the  heart  of  the  gray  mid-seas, 

To  rob  me  forever  of  all  my  ease  ? 

Oh  !  I  know  not :  I  only  know 

That  sound  was  the  warning  of  my  woe. 

For,  lo  !  as  I  looked,  I  saw  the  mist 

Over  the  channel  curl  and  twist, 

And  blot  the  breaker  out  of  sight 

Where  its  angry  horn  gored  the  waters  white. 

Only  a  sea-turn,  I  heard  them  say, 

That  the  climbing  sun  will  burn  away. 

But  I  saw  it  silently  settling  down 

Like  an  aspen  pall  upon  the  town. 

"  Oh,  hush  !  "  I  cried  :  "  'tis  some  huge  storm's  rack  : 

My  darlings,  my  darlings,  will  never  come  back  !  " 

All  day  I  stood  on  the  old  sea-wall, 

Watching  the  great  swell  rise  and  fall ; 

And  the  spume  and  the  spray  drove  far  and  thin  — 

But  never  a  sail  came  staggering  in. 

And  out  of  the  east  a  wet  wind  blew, 

And  over  my  head  the  foam-flakes  flew. 

Down  came  the  night  without  a  star, 

Loud  was  the  cry  of  the  raging  bar ; 

And  I  wrung  my  hands,  and  called  and  prayed ; 

And  the  black  wild  east  all  answer  made. 

Oh  !  long  ere  the  cruel  night  was  done 

Came  the  muffled  toll  of  the  minute-gun : 

Nothing  it  meant  to  me,  I  knew, 

Save  that  other  women  were  waiting  too ; 

For  many  the  craft,  that,  cast  away 

On  the  shoals  of  the  long  Plum  Island,  lay 


496  SIR  PATRICK  SPENS. 

Wrecked  and  naked,  a  hungry  horde 
Of  fierce  white  surges  leaping  aboard  ; 
And  bale  and  bundle  came  up  from  the  sea  — 
But  nothing  ever  came  back^to  me. 

And  through  every  pool  where  the  full  tides  toss, 

I  search  for  some  lock  of  curling  floss. 

Yet  still  in  my  window,  night  by  night, 

The  little  candle  is  shining  bright ; 

For,  oh  !  if  I  suddenly  turned  to  meet 

My  darlings  coming  with  flying  feet, 

While  I  in  the  place  they  left  me  sat, 

No  greater  marvel  'twould  be  than  that 

When  so  softly,  so  sweetly,  stole  up  from  the  sea 

The  day  that  brought  my  dole  to  me. 

HARRIET  PRESCOTT  SPOFFORD. 


SIR    PATRICK    SPENS. 

THE  king  sits  in  Dunfermline  town, 
Drinking  the  blude-red  wine  : 
"  Oh,  where  will  I  get  a  skeely  skipper 
To  sail  this  new  ship  of  mine?  " 

Oh  !  up  and  spake  an  eldern  knight 
Sat  at  the  king's  right  knee  : 

"  Sir  Patrick  Spens  is  the  best  sailor 
That  ever  sailed  the  sea." 

The  king  has  written  a  braid  letter, 
And  sealed  it  with  his  hand, 

And  sent  it  to  Sir  Patrick  Spens, 
Was  walking  on  the  strand. 


SIR  PATRICK  SPENS.  497 

"  To  Noroway,  to  Noroway, 

To  Noroway  o'er  the  faem ; 
The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway, 

Tis  thou  maun  bring  her  hame  !  " 

The  first  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

Sae  loud,  loud  laughed  he  ; 
The  neist  word  that  Sir  Patrick  read, 

The  tear  blindit  his  e'e. 

"  Oh  !  wha  is  this  has  done  this  deed, 

And  told  the  king  o'  me, 
To  send  us  out  at  this  time  o'  the  year 

To  sail  upon  the  sea? 

"  Be  it  wind,  be  it  weet,  be  it  hail,  be  it  sleet, 

Our  ship  must  sail  the  faem  : 
The  king's  daughter  of  Noroway 

'Tis  we  must  fetch  her  hame." 

They  hoysed  their  sails  on  Monenday  mom, 

Wi'  a'  speed  they  may  : 
They  hae  landed  in  Noroway 

Upon  a  Wodensday. 

They  hadna  been  a  week,  a  week, 

In  Noroway,  but  twae, 
When  that  the  lords  o'  Noroway 

Began  aloud  to  say,  — 

"Ye  Scottishmen  spend  a'  our  king's  gowd 

And  a'  our  queen's  fie.'- 
"  Ye  lie,  ye  lie,  ye  liars  loud  ! 

Fu'  loud  I  hear  ye  lie  ! 


498  SSX  PA  TRICK  SPENS. 

"  For  I  hae  brought  as  much  white  monie 

As  gaue  my  men  and  me, 
And  I  hae  brought  a  half-fou  o'  gude  red  gowd 

Out  cure  the  sea  wi'  me. 

"  Make  ready,  make  ready,  my  merry  men  a'  ! 

Our  gude  ship  sails  the  morn."  — 
"  Now,  ever  alake  !  my  master  dear, 

I  fear  a  deadly  storm. 

"  I  saw  the  new  moon,  late  yestreen, 

Wi'  the  auld  moon  in  her  arm ; 
And  if  we  gang  to  sea,  master, 

I  fear  we'll  come  to  harm." 

They  hadna  sailed  a  league,  a  league, 

A  league,  but  barely  three, 
When  the  lift  grew  dark,  and  the  wind  blew  loud, 

And  gurley  blew  the  sea. 

The  ankers  brak,  and  the  topmasts  lap, 

It  was  sic  a  deadly  storm ; 
And  the  waves  came  o'er  the  broken  ship 

Till  a'  her  sides  were  torn. 

"  Oh,  where  will  I  get  a  gude  sailor 

To  take  the  helm  in  hand 
Till  I  get  up  the  tall  topmast 

To  see  if  I  can  spy  land  ?  " 

"  Oh,  here  am  I,  a  sailor  gude, 

To  take  the  helm  in  hand 
Till  you  go  up  the  tall  topmast  — 

But  I  fear  you'll  ne'er  spy  land." 


SIR  PA  TRICK  SPENS.  499 

He  hadna  gane  a  step,  a  step, 

A  step,  but  barely  ane, 
When  a  boult  flew  out  of  our  goodly  ship, 

And  the  salt  sea  it  came  in. 

"  Gae  fetch  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Another  o'  the  twine, 
And  wap  them  into  our  ship's  side, 

And  letna  the  sea  come  in." 

They  fetched  a  web  o'  the  silken  claith, 

Another  o'  the  twine, 
And  they  wapped  them  roun'  that  gude  ship's  side ; 

But  still  the  sea  came  in. 

Oh,  laith,  laith,  were  our  gude  Scots  lords 

To  weet  their  cork-heeled  shoon, 
But  lang  or  a'  the  play  was  played 

They  wat  their  hats  aboon  ! 

And  mony  was  the  feather-bed 

That  floated  on  the  faem  ; 
And  mony  was  the  gude  lord's  son 

That  never  mair  came  hame. 

The  ladyes  wrang  their  fingers  white, 

The  maidens  tore  their  hair, 
A'  for  the  sake  of  their  true  loves, — 

For  them  they'll  see  na  mair. 

Oh,  lang,  lang,  may  the  ladyes  sit, 

Wi'  their  fans  into  their  hands, 
Before  they  see  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Come  sailing  to  the  strand  ! 


500  A   REFLECTION  AT  SEA. 

And  lang,  lang,  may  the  maidens  sit, 

Wi'  their  gowd  kames  in  their  hair, 
A'  waiting  for  their  ain  true  loves,  — 

For  them  they'll  see  na  mair. 

Oh,  forty  miles  off  Aberdeen 

Tis  fifty  fathom  deep ; 
And  there  lies  gude  Sir  Patrick  Spens 

Wi'  the  Scots  lords  at  his  feet. 

OLD  SCOTTISH  BALLAD. 


A    REFLECTION    AT    SEA. 

SEE  how,  beneath  the  moonbeam's  smile, 
Yon  little  billow  heaves  its  breast, 
And  foams  and  sparkles  for  a  while, 
Then  murmuring  subsides  to  rest ! 

Thus  man,  the  sport  of  bliss  and  care, 
Rises  on  time's  eventful  sea, 
And  having  swelled  a  moment  there, 
Thus  melts  into  eternity. 

THOMAS  MOORE. 


THE    SAILING    OF    THE    "  SWALLOW." 

AND  while  they  sat  at  speech  as  at  a  feast, 
There  came  a  light  wind  hardening  from  the  east, 
And  blackening,  and  made  comfortless  the  skies ; 
And  the  sea  thrilled,  as  with  heart-sundering  sighs 
One  after  one  drawn,  with  each  breath  it  drew, 
And  the  green  hardened  into  iron  blue, 


THE  SAILING  OF  THE  "SWALLOW."       501 

And  the  soft  light  went  out  of  all  its  face. 

Then  Tristram  girt  him  for  the  rowers'  place, 

And  took  his  oar,  and  smote,  and  toiled  with  might, 

In  the  wind's  full  face  and  the  strong  sea's  spite 

Laboring.     And  all  the  rowers  rowed  hard,  but  he 

More  mightily  than  any  wearier  three. 

And  Iseult  watched  him  rowing,  with  sinless  eyes 

That  loved  him  but  in  holy  girlish  wise, 

For  noble  joy  in  his  fair  manliness 

And  trust  and  tender  wonder ;  none  the  less, 

She  thought,  if  God  had  given  her  grace  to  be 

Man,  and  make  war  on  danger  of  earth  and  sea, 

Even  such  a  man  she  would  be ;  for  his  stroke 

Was  mightiest  as  the  mightier  water  broke, 

And  in  sheer  measure,  like  strong  music,  drave 

Clean  through  the  wet  weight  of  the  wallowing  wave ; 

And  as  a  tune  before  a  great  king  played 

For  triumph  was  the  tune  their  strong  strokes  made ; 

And  sped  the  ship  through  with  smooth  strife  of  oars 

Over  the  mid-sea's  gray  foam-paven  floors, 

For  all  the  loud  breach  of  the  waves  at  will. 

So  for  an  hour  they  fought  the  storm  out  still ; 
And  the  shorn  foam  spun  from  the  blades,  and  high 
The  keel  sprang  from  the  wave-ridge,  and  the  sky 
Glared  at  them  for  a  breath's  space  through  the  rain ; 
Then  the  bows  with  a  sharp  shock  plunged  again 
Down,  and  the  sea  clashed  on  them,  and  so  rose 
The  bright  stem  like  one  panting  from  swift  blows ; 
And  as  a  swimmer's  joyous  beaten  head 
Rears  itself  laughing,  so,  in  that  sharp  stead, 
The  light  ship  lifted  her  long  quivering  bows 
As  might  the  man  his  buffeted  strong  brows 


502  A   SUMMER  NOON  AT  SEA. 

Out  of  the  wave-breach ;  for  with  one  stroke  yet 

Went  all  men's  oars  together,  strongly  set 

As  to  loud  music ;  and  with  hearts  uplift 

They  smote  their  strong  way  through  the    drench   and 

drift 

Till  the  keen  hour  had  chafed  itself  to  death, 
And  the  east  wind  fell  fitfully,  breath  by  breath, 
Tired  ;  and  across  the  thin  and  slackening  rain 
Sprang  the  face  southward  of  the  sun  again. 

ALGERNON  CHARLES  SWINBURNE. 


A    SUMMER    NOON    AT    SEA. 

A  HOLY  stillness,  beautiful  and  deep, 
Reigns  in  the  air,  and  broods  upon  the  ocean ; 
The  worn-out  winds  are  quieted  to  sleep, 
And  not  a  wave  is  lifted  into  motion. 

The  sea-bird  skims  along  the  glassy  tide 

With  sidelong  flight,  and  wing  of  glittering  whiteness, 
Or  floats  upon  the  sea,  outstretching  wide 

A  sheet  of  gold  in  the  meridian  brightness. 

Our  vessel  lies,  unstirred  by  wave  or  blast, 

As  she  were  moored  to  her  dark  shadow  seeming, 

Her  pennon  twined  around  the  tapering  mast, 
And  her  loose  sails  like  marble  drapery  gleaming. 

How,  at  an  hour  like  this,  the  unruffled  mind 
Partakes  the  quiet  that  is  shed  around  us  ! 

As  if  the  Power  that  chained  the  impatient  wind 
With  the  same  fetter  of  repose  had  bound  us. 

EPES  SARGENT. 


A  SABBATH  MORNING  AT  SEA.  503 

A    SABBATH    MORNING    AT    SEA. 


THE  ship  went  on  with  solemn  face ; 
To  meet  the  darkness  on  the  deep, 
The  solemn  ship  went  onward. 
I  bowed  down  weary  in  the  place, 
For  parting  tears  and  present  sleep 

Had  weighed  mine  eyelids  downward. 

ii. 

Thick  sleep,  which  shut  all  dreams  from  me, 
And  kept  my  inner  self  apart, 

And  quiet  from  emotion, 
Then  brake  away,  and  left  me  free, 
Made  conscious  of  a  human  heart, 

Betwixt  the  heaven  and  ocean. 


The  new  sight,  the  new  wondrous  sight ! 
The  waters  round  me  turbulent, 

The  skies  impassive  o'er  me, 
Calm  in  a  moonless,  sunless  light, 
Half  glorified  by  that  intent 

Of  holding  the  day-glory. 

rv. 

Two  pale  thin  clouds  did  stand  upon 
The  meeting-line  of  sea  and  sky, 

With  aspect  still  and  mystic. 
I  think  they  did  foresee  the  sun, 
And  rested  on  their  prophecy 

In  quietude  majestic ; 


504  A  SABBATH  MORNING  AT  SEA. 

V. 

Then  flushed  to  radiance  where  they  stood, 
Like  statues  by  the  open  tomb 

Of  shining  saints  half  risen. 
The  sun  !  he  came  up  to  be  viewed  : 
And  sky  and  sea  made  mighty  room 

To  inaugurate  the  vision. 

VI. 

I  oft  had  seen  the  dawnlight  nm, 

As  red  wine  through  the  hills,  and  break 

Through  many  a  mist's  inurning ; 
But  here  no  earth  profaned  the  sun : 
Heaven,  ocean,  did  alone  partake 

The  sacrament  of  morning. 

vn. 

Away  with  thoughts  fantastical ! 
I  would  be  humble  to  my  worth, 

Self-guarded  as  self-doubted. 
Though  here  no  earthly  shadows  fall, 
I,  joying,  grieving,  without  earth, 

May  desecrate  without  it. 

vni. 

God's  sabbath  morning  sweeps  the  waves ; 
I  would  not  praise  the  pageant  high, 

Yet  miss  the  dedicature  : 
I,  carried  towards  the  sunless  graves 
By  force  of  natural  things,  —  should  I 

Exult  in  only  nature? 


A  SABBATH  MORNING  AT  SEA.  505 

IX. 

And  could  I  bear  to  sit  alone 
Mid  nature's  fixed  benignities, 

While  my  warm  pulse  was  moving? 
Too  dark  thou  art,  O  glittering  sun  ! 
Too  strait  ye  are,  capacious  seas, 

To  satisfy  the  loving. 

x. 

It  seems  a  better  lot  than  so 

To  sit  with  friends  beneath  the  beech, 

And  call  them  dear  and  dearer ; 
Or  follow  children  as  they  go 
In  pretty  pairs,  with  softened  speech, 

As  the  church-bells  ring  nearer. 

XI. 

Love  me,  sweet  friends,  this  sabbath  day, 
The  sea  sings  round  me  while  ye  roll 

Afar  the  hymn  unaltered, 
And  kneel  where  once  I  knelt  to  pray, 
And  bless  me  deeper  in  the  soul, 

Because  the  voice  has  faltered. 


XII. 

And  though  this  sabbath  comes  to  me 
Without  the  stoled  minister 

Or  chanting  congregation, 
God's  spirit  brings  communion,  HE 
Who  brooded  soft  on  waters  drear, 
Creator,  on  creation. 


506          FROM  "PROMETHEUS   UNBOUND:' 

xrn. 

Himself,  I  think,  shall  draw  me  higher, 
Where  keep  the  saints  with  harp  and  song 

An  endless  sabbath  morning, 
And  on  that  sea  commixed  with  fire 
Oft  drop  their  eyelids  raised  too  long 

To  the  full  Godhead's  burning. 

ELIZABETH  BARRETT  BROWNING. 

FROM    "PROMETHEUS    UNBOUND." 

A     RAINBOW'S  arch  stood  on  the  sea, 
JT\.  Which  rocked  beneath  immovably ; 
And  the  triumphant  storm  did  flee 
Like  a  conqueror,  swift  and  proud, 
Between  with  many  a  captive  cloud, 
A  shapeless,  dark,  and  rapid  crowd, 
Each  by  lightning  riven  in  half: 
I  heard  the  thunder  hoarsely  laugh ; 
Mighty  fleets  were  strewn  like  chaff, 
And  spread  beneath  a  hell  of  death 
O'er  the  white  waters. 

PERCY  BVSSHE  SHELLEY. 

A    VISION    OF    THE    SEA. 

>rT^IS  the  terror  of  tempest.     The  rags  of  the  sail 

JL    Are  flickering  in  ribbons  within  the  fierce  gale ; 
From  the  stark  night  of  vapors  the  dim  rain  is  driven, 
And  when  lightning  is  loosed,  like  a  deluge  from  heaven, 
She  sees  the  black  trunks  of  the  water-spouts  spin 
And  bend,  as  if  heaven  was  ruining  in, 
Which  they  seemed  to  sustain  with  their  terrible  mass, 
As  if  ocean  had  sunk  from  beneath  them  :  they  pass 


S,    3 


A    VISION  OF   THE  SEA.  507 

To  their  graves  in  the  deep  with  an  earthquake  of  sound ; 

And  the  waves  and  the  thunders,  made  silent  around, 

Leave  the  wind  to  its  echo.     The  vessel,  now  tost 

Through  the  low  trailing  rack  of  the  tempest,  is  lost 

In  the  skirts  of  the  thunder-cloud ;  now  down  the  sweep 

Of  the  wind-cloven  wave  to  the  chasm  of  the  deep 

It  sinks ;  and  the  walls  of  the  watery  vale, 

Whose  depths  of  dread  calm  are  unmoved  by  the  gale, 

Dim  mirrors  of  ruin,  hang  gleaming  about ; 

While  the  surf,  like  a  chaos  of  stars,  like  a  rout 

Of  death-flames,  like  whirlpools  of  fire-flowing  iron, 

With  splendor  and  terror  the  black  ship  environ  ; 

Or  like  sulphur-flakes  hurled  from  a  mine  of  pale  fire 

In  fountains  spout  o'er  it.     In  many  a  spire 

The  pyramid  billows,  with  white  points  of  brine, 

In  the  cope  of  the  lightning  inconstantly  shine, 

As  piercing  the  sky  from  the  floor  of  the  sea. 

The  great  ship  seems  splitting  !  it  cracks  as  a  tree, 

While  an  earthquake  is  splintering  its  root,  ere  the  blast 

Of  the  whirlwind  that  stripped  it  of  branches  has  past. 

The  intense  thunder-balls  which  are  raining  from  heaven 

Have  shattered  its  mast,  and  it  stands  black  and  riven. 

The  chinks  suck  destruction.     The  heavy  dead  hulk 

On  the  living  sea  rolls  an  inanimate  bulk, 

Like  a  corpse  on  the  clay  which  is  hungering  to  fold 

Its  corruption  around  it.     Meanwhile,  from  the  hold 

One  deck  is  burst  up  from  the  waters  .below, 

And  it  splits  like  the  ice  when  the  thaw-breezes  blow 

O'er  the  lakes  of  the  desert.     Who  sit  on  the  other? 

Is  that  all  the  crew  that  lie  burying  each  other, 

Like  the  dead  in  a  breach,  round  the  foremast?    Are 

those 
Twin  tigers,  who  burst  when  the  waters  arose, 


5o8  A    V1SIOX  OF  THE  SEA. 

In  the  agony  of  terror,  their  chains  in  the  hold, 

(What  now  makes  them  tame  is  what  then  made  them 

bold,) 

Who  crouch  side  by  side,  and  have  driven,  like  a  crank, 
The  deep  grip  of  their  claws  through  the  vibrating  plank  — 
Are  these  all  ?     Nine  weeks  the  tall  vessel  had  lain 
On  the  windless  expanse  of  the  watery  plain, 
Where  the  death-darting  sun  cast  no  shadow  at  noon, 
And  there  seemed  to  be  fire  in  the  beams  of  the  moon, 
Till  a  lead-colored  fog  gathered  up  from  the  deep, 
Whose  breath  was  quick  pestilence.    Then  the  cold  sleep 
Crept,  like  blight  through  the  ears  of  a  thick   field  of 

corn, 

O'er  the  populous  vessel ;  and  even  and  morn, 
With  their  hammocks  for  coffins,  the  seamen  aghast, 
Like  dead  men  the  dead  limbs  of  their  comrades  cast 
Down  the  deep,  which  closed  on  them  above  and  around, 
And  the  sharks  and  the  dogfish  their  grave-clothes  un- 
bound, 

And  were  glutted  like  Jews  with  this  manna  rained  down 
From  God  on  their  wilderness.     One  after  one 
The  mariners  died  :  on  the  eve  of  this  day, 
When  the  tempest  was  gathering  in  cloudy  array, 
But  seven  remained.     Six  the  thunder  has  smitten, 
And  they  lie  black  as  mummies    on    which    Time  has 

written 

His  scorn  of  the  embalmer :  the  seventh  from  the  deck 
An  oak-splinter  pierced  through  his  breast  and  his  back, 
And  hung  out  to  the  tempest  a  wreck  on  the  wreck. 
No  more  ?     At  the  helm  sits  a  woman  more  fair 
Than  heaven,  when,  unbinding  its  star-braided  hair, 
It  sinks  with  the  sun  on  the  earth  and  the  sea. 
She  clasps  a  bright  child  on  her  upgathered  knee  : 


A    VISION  OF  THE  SEA.  509 

It  laughs  at  the  lightning,  it  mocks  the  mixed  thunder 

Of  the  air  and  the  sea,  with  desire  and  with  wonder 

It  is  beckoning  the  tigers  to  rise  and  come  near. 

It  would  play  with  those  eyes  where  the  radiance  of  fear 

Is  outshining  the  meteors.     Its  bosom  beats  high  : 

The  heart-fire  of  pleasure  has  kindled  its  eye, 

Whilst  its  mother's  is  lustreless.     "  Smile  not,  my  child, 

But  sleep  deeply  and  sweetly,  and  so  be  beguiled 

Of  the  pang  that  awaits  us,  whatever  that  be, 

So  dreadful  since  thou  must  divide  it  with  me. 

Dream,  sleep  !     This  pale  bosom,  thy  cradle  and  bed, 

Will  it  rock  thee  not,  infant  ?  ,  'Tis  beating  with  dread. 

Alas  !  what  is  life,  what  is  death,  what  are  we, 

That  when  the  ship  sinks  we  no  longer  may  be? 

What !  —  to  see  thee  no  more,  and  to  feel  thee  no  more  ? 

Not  to  be  after  life  what  we  have  been  before  ? 

Not  to  touch  those  sweet  hands?  not  to  look  on  those 

eyes, 

Those  lips,  and  that  hair,  all  that  smiling  disguise 
Thou  yet  wearest,  sweet  spirit,  which  I  day  by  day 
Have  so  long  called  my  child,  but  which  now  fades  away 
Like  a  rainbow,  and  I  the  fallen  shower?"     Lo  !    the 

ship 

Is  settling,  it  topples,  the  leeward  ports  dip. 
The  tigers  leap  up  when  they  feel  the  slow  brine 
Crawling  inch  by  inch  on  them ;  hair,  ears,  limbs,  and 

eyne 

Stand  rigid  with  horror :  a  loud,  long,  hoarse  cry 
Bursts  at  once  from  their  vitals  tremendously ; 
And  'tis  borne  down  the  mountainous  vale  of  the  wave, 
Rebounding,  like  thunder,  from  crag  to  cave, 
Mixed  with  the  clash  of  the  lashing  rain, 
Hurried  on  by  the  might  of  the  hurricane.' 


510  A    VISION  OF  THE  SEA. 

The  hurricane  came  from  the  west,  and  passed  on 

By  the  path  of  the  gate  of  the  eastern  sun, 

Transversely  dividing  the  stream  of  the  storm ; 

As  an  arrowy  serpent,  pursuing  the  form 

Of  an  elephant,  bursts  through  the  brakes  of  the  waste. 

Black  as  a  cormorant  the  screaming  blast, 

Between  ocean  and  heaven,  like  an  ocean,  past, 

Till  it  came  to  the  clouds  on  the  verge  of  the  world, 

Which,  based  on  the  sea,  and  to  heaven  upcurled, 

Like  columns  and  walls  did  surround  and  sustain 

The  dome  of  the  tempest.     It  rent  them  in  twain, 

As  a  flood  rends  its  barriers  of  mountainous  crag ; 

And  the  dense  clouds  in  many  a  ruin  and  rag, 

Like  the  stones  of  a  temple  ere  earthquake  has  past, 

Like  the  dust  of  its  fall,  on  the  whirlwind  are  cast : 

They  are  scattered  like  foam  on  the  torrent ;  and  where 

The  wind  has  burst  out  from  the  chasm,  from  the  air 

Of  clear  morning,  the  beams  of  the  sunrise  flow  in, 

Unimpeded,  keen,  golden,  and  crystalline 

Banded  armies  of  light  and  of  air ;  at  one  gate 

They  encounter,  but  interpenetrate. 

And  that  breach  in  the  tempest  is  widening  away, 

And  the  caverns  of  clouds  are  torn  up  by  the  day, 

And  the  fierce  winds  are  sinking  with  weary  wings, 

Lulled  by  the  motion  and  murmurings, 

And  the  long  glassy  heave  of  the  rocking  sea ; 

And  overhead  glorious,  but  dreadful  to  see, 

The  wrecks  of  the  tempest,  like  vapors  of  gold, 

Are  consuming  in  sunrise.     The  heaped  waves  behold 

The  deep  calm  of  blue  heaven  dilating  above, 

And,  like  passions  made  still  by  the  presence  of  love, 

Beneath  the  clear  surface  reflecting  it  slide 

Tremulous  with  soft  influence  ;  extending  its  tide 


A    VISION  OF  THE  SEA.  511 

From  the  Andes  to  Atlas,  round  mountain  and  isle, 
Round  sea-birds  and  wrecks,  paved  with  heaven's  azure 

smile. 

The  wide  world  of  waters  is  vibrating.     Where 
Is  the  ship?     On  the  verge  of  the  wave  where  it  lay 
One  tiger  is  mingled  in  ghastly  affray 
With   a   sea-snake.     The  foam   and   the   smoke  of  the 

battle 

Stain  the  clear  air  with  sunbows ;  the  jar  and  the  rattle 
Of  solid  bones  crushed  by  the  infinite  stress 
Of  the  snake's  adamantine  voluminousness  ; 
And  the  hum  of  the  hot  blood  that  spouts  and  rains 
Where  the  grip  of  the  tiger  has  wounded  the  veins, 
Swollen  with  rage,  strength,  and  effort ;  the  whirl  and  the 

splash 

As  of  some  hideous  engine  whose  brazen  teeth  smash 
The  thin  winds  and  soft  waves  into  thunder ;  the  screams 
And  hissings  crawl  fast  o'er  the  smooth  ocean-streams, 
Each  sound  like  a  centipede.     Near  this  commotion 
A  blue  shark  is  hanging  within  the  blue  ocean, 
The  fin-winged  tomb  of  the  victor.     The  other 
Is  winning  his  way  from  the  fate  of  his  brother 
To  his  own  with  the  speed  of  despair.     Lo  !  a  boat 
Advances  :  twelve  rowers  with  the  impulse  of  thought 
Urge  on  the  keen  keel,  the  brine  foams.     At  the  stern 
Three  marksmen  stand  levelling.     Hot  bullets  burn 
In  the  breast  of  the  tiger,  which  yet  bears  him  on 
To  his  refuge  and  ruin.     One  fragment  alone  — 
Tis  dwindling  and  sinking,  'tis  now  almost  gone  — 
Of  the  wreck  of  the  vessel  peers  out  of  the  sea, 
With  her  left  hand  she  grasps  it  impetuously, 
With  her  right  she  sustains  her  fair  infant.     Death,  fear, 
Love,  beauty,  are  mixed  in  the  atmosphere, 


512  ODE    TO    THE   SEA. 

Which  trembles  and  burns  with  the  fervor  of  dread 
Around  her  wild  eyes,  her  bright  hand,  and  her  head, 
Like  a  meteor  of  light  o'er  the  waters.     Her  child 
Is  yet  smiling  and  playing  and  murmuring :  so  smiled 
The  false  deep  ere  the  storm.     Like  a  sister  and  brother 
The  child  and  the  ocean  still  smile  on  each  other, 
Whilst  — 

PERCY  BYSSHE  SHELLEY. 


ODE    TO    THE    SEA. 

AT  length  I  look  on  thee  again, 
Abyss  of  azure,  thou  vast  main, 
Long  by  my  verse  implored  in  vain, 

Alone  inspired  by  thee  ! 
The  magic  of  thy  sounds  alone 
Can  raise  the  transports  I  have  known  : 
My  harp  is  mute,  unless  its  tone 
Be  waked  beside  the  sea. 

The  heights  of  Blanc  have  fired  mine  eyes,  — 
Those  three  bare  mounts  that  touch  the  skies  : 
I  loved  the  terror  of  their  brow, 
I  loved  their  diadem  of  snow ; 
But,  O  thou  wild  and  awful  Sea  ! 

More  dear  to  me 
Thy  threatening,  dread  immensity. 

Dread  Ocean,  burst  upon  me  with  thy  shores  ! 

Fling  wide  thy  waters  where  the  storms  bear  sway  ! 
Thy  bosom  opens  to  a  thousand  prores ; 

Yet  fleets  with  idle  daring  breast  thy  spray, 
Ripple  with  arrow's  track  thy  closing  plain, 
And  graze  the  surface  of  thy  deep  domain. 


ODE    TO    THE  SEA.  513 

Man  dares  not  tread  thy  liquid  way ; 
Thou  spurn'st  that  despot  of  a  day, 
Tossed  like  a  snovvflake,  or  the  spray 

From  storm-gulfs  to  the  skies : 
He  breathes  and  reigns  on  solid  land, 
And  ruins  mark  his  tyrant  hand ; 
Thou  bidd'st  him  in  that  circle  stand, 

Thy  reign  his  rage  defines. 

Or  should  he  force  his  passage  there, 
Thou  risest,  mocking  his  despair ; 
The  shipwreck  humbles  all  his  pride  : 
He  sinks  within  the  darksome  tide  — 
The  surge's  vast  unfathomed  gloom 

His  catacomb  — 
Without  a  name,  without  a  tomb. 

Thy  banks  are  kingdoms,  where  the  shrine,  the  throne, 
The  pomp  of  human  things,  are  changed  and  past ; 

The  people  —  they  were  phantoms,  they  are  flown  — 
Time  has  avenged  thee  on  their  strength  at  last. 

Thy  billows  idly  rest  on  Sidon's  shore, 

And  her  bold  pilots  wound  thy  pride  no  more. 

Rome,  Athens,  Carthage,  what  are  they? 
Spoiled  heritage,  successive  prey ; 
New  nations  force  their  onward  way, 

And  grasp  disputed  reign. 
Thou  changest  not ;  thy  waters  pour 
The  same  wild  waves  against  the  shore 
Where  Liberty  had  breathed  before, 

And  Slavery  hugs  his  chain. 


514  THE  STORY  OF  A   STOWAWAY. 

States  bow ;  Time's  sceptre  presses  still 
On  Apennine's  subsiding  hill ; 
The  steps  of  ages,  crumbling  slow, 
Are  stamped  upon  his  arid  bow : 
No  trace  of  time  is  left  on  thee, 

Unchanging  Sea ! 
Created  thus,  and  still  to  be. 

Sea  !  of  almightiness  itself  the  immense 
And  glorious  mirror  !  how  thy  azure  face 

Renews  the  heavens  in  their  magnificence  ! 

What  awful  grandeur  rounds  thy  heaving  space  ! 

Thy  surge  two  worlds  eternal  warring  sweeps, 

And  God's  throne  rests  on  thy  majestic  deeps. 

FROM  THE  FRENCH  OF  CHARLES  DE  CHENEDOU*. 


THE    STORY    OF    A    STOWAWAY. 

COME,  my  lad,   and  sit  beside  me  :    we  have   often 
talked  before 
Of  the  hurricane  and  tempest,  and  the  storms  on  sea  and 

shore. 
When  we  read  of  deeds  of  daring  done   for  dear  old 

England's  sake, 

We  have  cited  Nelson's  duty  and  the  enterprise  of  Drake. 
Midst  the  fevered  din  of  battle,  roll  of  drum,  and  scream 

of  fife, 
Heroes  pass  in  long  procession,  calmly  yielding  up  their 

life. 
Pomps  and  pageants  have  their  glory ;  in  cathedral  aisles 

are  seen 
Marble  effigies,  but  seldom  of  the  mercantile  marine. 


THE  STORY  OF  A   STOWAWAY.  515 

If  your  playmates  love  adventure,  bid  them  gather  round 

at  school 
Whilst  you  tell  them  of  a  hero,    Captain   Strachan  of 

Liverpool. 

Spite  of  storm  and  stress  of  weather,  in  a  gale  that  lashed 

the  land, 
On  the  "  Cyprian  "  screw-steamer,  there  the  captain  took 

his  stand. 

He  was  no  fair-weather  sailor,  and  he  often  made  the  boast 
That  the  ocean  safer  sheltered  than  the  wild  Carnarvon 

coast. 
He'd  a  good  ship  underneath  him,  and  a  crew  of  English 

form  : 
So  he  sailed  from  out  the  Mersey  in  the  hurricane  and 

storm. 
All  the  luck  was  dead  against  him :  with  the  tempest  at 

its  height 
Fires  expired,  and  rudders  parted  ;  in  the  middle  of  the 

night 
Sails  were  torn  and  rent  asunder.     Then  he  spoke  with 

bated  breath : 
"  Save  yourselves,  my  gallant  fellows  !     We  are  drifting  to 

our  death  ! " 

Then  they  looked  at  one  another ;  and  they  felt  the  awful 

shock, 
When,  with  louder  crash  than  tempest,  they  were  dashed 

upon  a  rock. 
All  was  over  now,  and  hopeless  ;  but  across  those  miles  of 

foam 
They  could  hear  the  shouts  of  people,  and  could  see  the 

lights  of  home. 


516  THE  STORY  OF  A   STOWAWAY. 

"All  is  over!"  screamed  the  captain.  "You  have  an- 
swered duty's  call. 

Save  yourselves  !  I  cannot  help  you  !  God  have  mercy 
on  us  all !  " 

So  they  rushed  about  like  madmen,  seizing  belt  and  oar 
and  rope ; 

For  the  sailor  knows,  where  life  is,  there's  the  faintest  ray 
of  hope. 

Then,  amidst  the  wild  confusion,  at  the  dreaded  dawn  of 
day, 

From  the  hold  of  that  doomed  vessel  crept  a  wretched 
stowaway. 

Who  shall  tell  the  saddened  story  of  this  miserable  lad  ? 

Was  it  wild  adventure  stirred  him  ?  was  he  going  to  the  bad  ? 

Was  he  thief,  or  bully's  victim,  or  a  runaway  from  school, 

When  he  stole  that  fatal  passage  from  the  port  of  Liver- 
pool? 

No  one  looked  at  him,  or  kicked  him  ;  midst  the  paralyz- 
ing roar 

All  alone,  he  felt  the  danger,  and  he  saw  the  distant  shore. 

Over  went  the  gallant  fellows  when  the  ship  was  breaking 
fast, 

And  the  captain  with  his  life-belt  —  he  prepared  to  follow 
last; 

But  he  saw  a  boy  neglected,  with  a  face  of  ashy  gray. 

"  Who  are  you?  "  roared  out  the  captain.  "  I'm  the  boy 
what  stowed  away." 

There  was  scarce  another  second  left  to  think  what  he 

could  do ; 
For  the  fatal  ship  was  sinking  —  Death  was  ready  for  the 

two. 


THE  STORY  OF  A   STOWAWAY.  517 

So  the  captain  called  the  outcast :  as  he  faced  the  tem- 
pest wild, 
From  his  own  waist  took  the  life-belt,  and  he  bound  it 

round  the  child. 
"  I  can  swim,  my  little  fellow.     Take  the  belt,  and  make 

for  land. 
Up,  and  save  yourself!"     The  outcast  humbly  knelt  to 

kiss  his  hand. 
With  the  lifebelt  round  his  body,  then  the  urchin  cleared 

the  ship ; 

Over  went  the  gallant  captain,  with  a  blessing  on  his  lip. 
But  the  hurricane  howled  louder  than   it  ever  howled 

before, 
As  the  captain  and  the  stowaway  were  making  for  the 

shore. 

When  you  tell  this  gallant  story  to  your  playfellows  at 
school, 

They  will  ask  you  of  the  hero,  Captain  Strachan  of  Liver- 
pool. 

You  must  answer,  They  discovered  on  the  beach,  at 
break  of  day, 

Safe,  the  battered,  breathing  body  of  the  little  stow- 
away; 

And  they  watched  the  waves  of  wreckage,  and  they 
searched  the  cruel  shore  ; 

But  the  man  who  tried  to  save  the  little  outcast  was  no 
more. 


When  they  speak  of  English  heroes,  tell  this  story  where 

you  can, 
To  the  everlasting  credit  of  the  bravery  of  man ; 


518  FROM   THE   "  CULPRIT  FAY." 

Tell  it  out  in  tones  of  triumph,  or  with  tears  and  quick- 
ened breath, 

"  Manhood's  stronger  far  than  storms,  and  Love  is  might- 
ier than  Death  ! " 

FROM  PUNCH. 

FROM    THE    "CULPRIT    FAY." 

SOFT  and  pale  in  the  moony  beam, 
Moveless  still,  the  glassy  stream ; 
The  wave  is  clear,  the  beach  is  bright 
With  snowy  shells  and  sparkling  stones ; 
The  shore-surge  comes  in  ripples  light, 
In  murmurings  faint,  and  distant  moans ; 
And  ever  afar  in  the  silence  deep 
Is  heard  the  splash  of  the  sturgeon's  leap ; 
And  the  bend  of  his  graceful  bow  is  seen,  — 
A  glittering  arch  of  silver  sheen, 
Spanning  the  wave  of  burnished  blue, 
And  dripping  with  gems  of  the  river-dew. 

The  elfin  cast  a  glance  around 

As  he  lighted  down  from  his  coursed  toad, 

Then  round  his  breast  his  wings  he  wound, 

And  close  to  the  river's  brink  he  strode : 

He  sprang  on  a  rock,  he  breathed  a  prayer, 

Above  his  head  his  arms  he  threw, 

Then  tossed  a  tiny  curve  in  air, 

And  headlong  plunged  in  the  waters  blue. 

Fearlessly  he  skims  along, 
His  hope  is  high,  and  his  limbs  are  strong ; 
He  spreads  his  arms  like  the  swallow's  wing, 
And  throws  his  feet  with  a  frog-like  fling ; 


FROM   THE   "  CULPRIT  FAY."  519 

His  locks  of  gold  on  the  waters  shine, 

At  his  breast  the  tiny  foam-bees  rise, 

His  back  gleams  bright  above  the  brine, 

And  the  wake-line  foam  behind  him  lies. 

But  the  water-sprites  are  gathering  near 

To  check  his  course  along  the  tide ; 

Their  warriors  come  in  swift  career, 

And  hem  him  round  on  every  side  \ 

On  his  thigh  the  leech  has  fixed  his  hold ; 

The  quarl's  long  arms  are  round  him  rolled ; 

The  prickly  prong  has  pierced  his  skin ; 

And  the  squab  has  thrown  his  javelin ; 

The  gritty  star  has  rubbed  him  raw, 

And  the  crab  has  struck  with  his  giant  claw : 

He  howls  with  rage,  and  he  shrieks  with  pain ; 

He  strikes  around,  but  his  blows  are  vain. 

Hopeless  is  the  unequal  fight, 

Fairy  !  nought  is  left  but  flight. 

He  turned  him  round,  and  fled  amain 

With  hurry  and  dash  to  the  beach  again ; 

He  twisted  over  from  side  to  side, 

And  laid  his  cheek  to  the  cleaving  tide. 

The  strokes  of  his  plunging  arms  are  fleet, 

And  with  all  his  might  he  flings  his  feet ; 

But  the  water-sprites  are  round  him  still, 

To  cross  his  path,  and  work  him  ill. 

They  bade  the  wave  before  him  rise ; 

They  flung  the  sea-fire  in  his  eyes ; 

And  they  stunned  his  ears  with  the  scallop-stroke, 

With  the  porpoise  heave  and  the  drum-fish  croak. 

Oh  !  but  a  weary  wight  was  he 

When  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  dogwood- tree ! 


520  ADDRESS   TO    THE   OCEAN. 

Gashed  and  wounded,  and  stiff  and  sore, 
He  laid  him  down  on  the  sandy  shore  : 
He  blessed  the  force  of  the  charmed  line, 
And  he  banned  the  water-goblins'  spite ; 
For  he  saw  around  in  the  sweet  moonshine 
Their  little  wee  faces  above  the  brine, 
Giggling  and  laughing  with  all  their  might 
At  the  piteous  hap  of  the  fairy  wight. 

Soon  he  gathered  the  balsam  dew 

From  the  sorrel-leaf  and  the  henbane  bud : 

Over  each  wound  the  balm  he  drew, 

And  with  cobweb  lint  he  stanched  the  blood. 

The  mild  west  wind  was  soft  and  low, 

It  cooled  the  heat  of  his  burning  brow, 

And  he  felt  new  life  in  his  sinews  shoot, 

As  he  drank  the  juice  of  the  calamus-root, 

And  now  he  treads  the  fatal  shore, 

As  fresh  and  vigorous  as  before. 


JOSEPH  RODMAN  DRAKE. 


ADDRESS    TO    THE    OCEAN. 

OTHOU  vast  Ocean  !  ever-sounding  Sea  ! 
Thou  symbol  of  a  drear  immensity, 
Thou  thing  that  windest  round  the  solid  world 
Like  a  huge  animal,  which,  downward  hurled 
From  the  black  clouds,  lies  weltering  and  alone, 
Lashing  and  writhing  till  its  strength  be  gone. 
Thy  voice  is  like  the  thunder ;   and  thy  sleep 
Is  as  a  giant's  slumber,  loud  and  deep. 
Thou  speakest  in  the  east  and  in  the  west 
At  once ;  and  on  thy  heavily-laden  breast 


THE   CITY  IN  THE  SEA.  521 

Fleets  come  and  go,  and  shapes  that  have  no  life 

Or  motion  yet  are  moved,  and  meet  in  strife. 

The  earth  hath  nought  of  this  :  no  chance  or  change 

Ruffles  its  surface,  and  no  spirits  dare 

Give  answer  to  the  tempest- wakened  air ; 

But  o'er  its  wastes  the  weakly  tenants  range 

At  will,  and  wound  its  bosom  as  they  go. 

Ever  the  same,  it  hath  no  ebb,  no  flow ; 

But  in  their  stated  rounds  the  seasons  come, 

And  pass  like  visions  to  their  wonted  home, 

And  come  again,  and  vanish.     The  young  Spring 

Looks  ever  bright  with  leaves  and  blossoming ; 

And  Winter  always  winds  his  sullen  horn 

When  the  wild  Autumn,  with  a  look  forlorn, 

Dies  in  his  stormy  manhood  ;  and  the  skies 

Weep,  and  flowers  sicken,  when  the  Summer  flies. 

Oh  !  wonderful  thou  art,  great  element, 

And  fearful  in  thy  spleeny  humors  bent, 

And  lovely  in  repose  :  thy  summer  form 

Is  beautiful ;  and  when  thy  silver  waves 

Make  music  in  earth's  dark  and  winding  caves, 

I  love  to  wander  on  thy  pebbled  beach, 

Marking  the  sunlight  at  the  evening  hour, 

And  hearken  to  the  thoughts  thy  waters  teach,  — 

Eternity,  Eternity,  and  Power. 

BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 
THE    CITY    IN    THE    SEA. 

LO  !  Death  has  reared  himself  a  throne 
In  a  strange  city  lying  alone 
Far  down  within  the  dim  west, 

Where  the  good  and  the  bad,  and  the  worst  and  the  best, 
Have  gone  to  their  eternal  rest. 


522  THE   CITY  IN   THE  SEA. 

There  shrines  and  palaces  and  towers 
(Time-eaten  towers  that  tremble  not) 
Resemble  nothing  that  is  ours. 
Around,  by  lifting  winds  forgot, 
Resignedly  beneath  the  sky 
The  melancholy  waters  lie. 

No  rays  from  the  holy  heaven  come  down 
On  the  long  night-time  of  that  town ; 
But  light  from  out  the  lurid  sea 
Streams  up  the  turrets  silently, 
Streams  up  the  pinnacles  far  and  free,  — 
Up  domes,  up  spires,  up  kingly  halls, 
Up  fanes,  up  Babylon-like  walls, 
Up  shadowy,  long-forgotten  bowers 
Of  sculptured  ivy  and  stone  flowers, 
Up  many  and  many  a  marvellous  shrine 
Whose  wreathed  friezes  intertwine 
The  viol,  the  violet,  and  the  vine. 


Resignedly,  beneath  the  sky 
The  melancholy  waters  lie. 
So  blend  the  turrets  and  shadows  there, 
That  all  seem  pendulous  in  air ; 
While  from  a  proud  tower  in  the  town 
Death  looks  gigantically  down. 
There  open  fanes  and  gaping  graves 
Yawn  level  with  the  luminous  waves. 
But  not  the  riches  there  that  lie 
In  each  idol's  diamond  eye, 
Not  the  gayly-je welled  dead, 
Tempt  the  waters  from  their  bed ; 


FROM  "DON  JUAN."  523 

For  no  ripples  curl,  alas  ! 

Along  that  wilderness  of  glass ; 

No  swellings  tell  that  winds  may  be 

Upon  some  far-off  happier  sea ; 

No  heavings  hint  that  winds  have  been 

On  scenes  less  hideously  serene. 

But  lo  !  a  stir  is  in  the  air  : 
The  wave  —  there  is  a  movement  there, 
As  if  the  towers  had  thrust  aside, 
In  slightly  sinking,  the  dull  tide ; 
As  if  their  tops  had  feebly  given 
A  void  within  the  filmy  heaven. 
The  waves  have  now  a  redder  glow, 
The  hours  are  breathing  faint  and  low ; 
And  when,  amid  no  earthly  moans, 
Down,  down,  that  town  shall  settle  hence, 
Hell,  rising  from  a  thousand  thrones, 
Shall  do  it  reverence. 

EDGAR  ALLAN  POE. 


FROM    "DON    JUAN." 
(CANTO  n.) 

r  I  AHERE  she  lay  motionless,  and  seemed  upset : 
JL    The  water  left  the  hold,  and  washed  the  decks, 
And  made  a  scene  men  do  not  soon  forget  ^ 

For  they  remember  battles,  fires,  and  wrecks, 
Or  any  other  thing  that  brings  regret, 

Or  breaks  their  hopes,  or  hearts,  or  heads  —  or  necks 
Thus  drownings  are  much  talked  of  by  the  divers 
And  swimmers  who  may  chance  to  be  survivors. 


524  FROM  "DON  JUAN." 

Immediately  the  masts  were  cut  away, 

Both  main  and  mizzen ;  first  the  mizzen  went ; 

The  mainmast  followed  :  but  the  ship  still  lay 
Like  a  mere  log,  and  baffled  our  intent. 

Foremast  and  bowsprit  were  cut  down,  and  they 
Eased  her  at  last  (although  we  never  meant 

To  part  with  all  till  every  hope  was  blighted ;) 

And  then  with  violence  the  old  ship  righted. 

But  now  there  came  a  flash  of  hope  once  more ; 

Day  broke,  and  the  wind  lulled  :  the  masts  were  gone, 
The  leak  increased  ;  shoals  round  her,  but  no  shore  ; 

The  vessel  swam,  yet  still  she  held  her  own. 
They  tried  the  pumps  again ;  and,  though  before 

Their  desperate  efforts  seemed  all  useless  grown, 
A  glimpse  of  sunshine  set  some  hands  to  bale : 
The  stronger  pumped,  the  weaker  thrummed  a  sail. 

The  wind,  in  fact,  perhaps  was  rather  less ; 

But  the  ship  labored  so,  they  scarce  could  hope 
To  weather  out  much  longer ;  the  distress 

Was  also  great  with  which  they  had  to  cope 
For  want  of  water,  and  their  solid  mess 

Was  scant  enough  :  in  vain  the  telescope 
Was  used  ;  nor  sail,  nor  shore,  appeared  in  sight,  — 
Nought  but  a  heavy  sea,  and  coming  night. 

Again  the  weather  threatened,  again  blew 

A  gale,  and  in  the  fore  and  after  hold 
Water  appeared ;  yet,  though  the  people  knew 

All  this,  the  most  were  patient,  and  some  bold, 
Until  the  chains  and  leathers  were  worn  through 

Of  all  our  pumps  —  a  wreck  complete  she  rolled, 


FROM  "DON  JUAN."  525 

At  mercy  of  the  waves,  whose  mercies  are 
Like  human  beings  during  civil  war. 

Then  came  the  carpenter  at  last,  with  tears 
In  his  rough  eyes,  and  told  the  captain  he 

Could  do  no  more  :  he  was  a  man  in  years, 

And  long  had  voyaged  through  many  a  stormy  sea ; 

And,  if  he  wept  at  length,  they  were  not  fears 
That  made  his  eyelids  as  a  woman's  be  : 

But  he,  poor  fellow,  had  a  wife  and  children, — 

Two  things  for  dying  people  quite  bewildering. 

The  ship  was  evidently  settling  now 

Fast  by  the  head  ;  and,  all  distinction  gone, 

Some  went  to  prayers  again,  and  made  a  vow 
Of  candles  to  their  saints  —  but  there  were  none 

To  pay  them  with  ;  and  some  looked  o'er  the  bow ; 
Some  hoisted  out  their  boats ;  and  there  was  one 

That  begged  Pedrillo  for  an  absolution, 

Who  told  him  to  be  damned  —  in  his  confusion. 

Some  lashed  them  in  their  hammocks ;  some  put  on 

Their  best  clothes,  as  if  going  to  a  fair ; 
Some  cursed  the  day  on  which  they  saw  the  sun, 

And  gnashed  their  teeth,  and,  howling,  tore  their  hair ; 
And  others  went  on,  as  they  had  begun, 

Getting  the  boats  out,  being  well  aware 
That  a  tight  boat  will  live  in  a  rough  sea, 
Unless  with  breakers  close  beneath  her  lee. 

The  worst  of  all  was,  that  in  their  condition, 
Having  been  several  days  in  great  distress, 

'Twas  difficult  to  get  out  such  provision 

As  now  might  render  their  long  suffering  less : 


526  FROM  "DON  JUAN." 

(Men,  even  when  dying,  dislike  inanition  ;) 

Their  stock  was  damaged  by  the  weather's  stress : 
Two  casks  of  biscuit,  and  a  keg  of  butter, 
Were  all  that  could  be  thrown  into  the  cutter. 

But  in  the  long-boat  they  contrived  to  stow 

Some  pounds  of  bread,  though  injured  by  the  wet ; 

Water,  a  twenty-gallon  cask  or  so  ; 

Six  flasks  of  wine  ;  and  they  contrived  to  get 

A  portion  of  their  beef  up  from  below, 
And  with  a  piece  of  pork,  moreover,  met, 

But  scarce  enough  to  serve  for  them  a  luncheon ; 

Then  there  was  rum  —  eight  gallons  in  a  puncheon. 

The  other  boats,  the  yawl  and  pinnace,  had 
Been  stove  in  the  beginning  of  the  gale ; 

And  the  long-boat's  condition  was  but  bad, 
As  there  were  but  two  blankets  for  a  sail, 

And  one  oar  for  a  mast,  which  a  young  lad 
Threw  in  by  good  luck  over  the  ship's  rail ; 

And  two  boats  could  not  hold,  far  less  be  stored, 

To  save  one-half  the  people  then  on  board. 

'Twas  twilight ;  and  the  sunless  day  went  down 

Over  the  waste  of  waters,  like  a  veil, 
Which,  if  withdrawn,  would  but  disclose  the  frown 

Of  one  whose  hate  is  masked  but  to  assail. 
Thus  to  their  hopeless  eyes  the  night  was  shown, 

And  grimly  darkled  o'er  the  faces  pale 
And  the  dim,  desolate  deep :  twelve  days  had  Fear 
Been  their  familiar,  and  now  Death  was  here. 

Some  trial  had  been  making  at  a  raft, 
With  little  hope  in  such  a  rolling  sea,  — 


FROM  "  DON  JUAN."  527 

A  sort  of  thing  at  which  one  might  have  laughed, 

If  any  laughter  at  such  times  could  be, 
Unless  with  people  who  too  much  have  quaffed, 

And  have  a  kind  of  wild  and  horrid  glee, 
Half  epileptical,  and  half  hysterical : 
Their  preservation  would  have  been  a  miracle. 

At  half-past  eight  o'clock,  booms,  hencoops,  spars, 
And  all  things,  for  a  chance,  had  been  cast  loose, 

That  still  could  keep  afloat  the  struggling  tars ; 
For  yet  they  strove,  although  of  no  great  use  : 

There  was  no  light  in  heaven  but  a  few  stars. 
The  boats  put  off,  o'ercrowded  with  their  crews : 

She  gave  a  heel,  and  then  a  lurch  to  port, 

And  going  down  head  foremost  —  sunk,  in  short. 

Then  rose  from  sea  to  sky  the  wild  farewell ; 

Then  shrieked  the  timid,  and  stood  still  the  brave ; 
Then  some  leaped  overboard  with  dreadful  yell, 

As  eager  to  anticipate  their  grave  ; 
And  the  sea  yawned  around  her  like  a  hell, 

And  down  she  sucked  with  her  the  whirling  wave, 
Like  one  who  grapples  with  his  enemy, 
And  tries  to  strangle  him  before  he  die. 

And  first  one  universal  shriek  there  rushed, 
Louder  than  the  loud  ocean,  like  a  crash 

Of  echoing  thunder ;  and  then  all  was  hushed, 
Save  the  wild  wind  and  the  remorseless  dash 

Of  billows  ;  but  at  intervals  there  gushed, 
Accompanied  with  a  convulsive  splash, 

A  solitary  shriek,  —  the  bubbling  cry 

Of  some  strong  swimmer  in  his  agony. 


528  THE  FISHERMEN. 

The  boats,  as  stated,  had  got  off  before, 
And  in  them  crowded  several  of  the  crew ; 

And  yet  their  present  hope  was  hardly  more 
Than  what  it  had  been,  for  so  strong  it  blew 

There  was  slight  chance  of  reaching  any  shore  ; 
And  then  there  were  too  many,  though  so  few,  — 

Nine  in  the  cutter,  thirty  in  the  boat, 

Were  counted  in  them  when  they  got  afloat. 

All  the  rest  perished  :  near  two  hundred  souls 
Had  left  their  bodies. 

GEORGE  NOEL  BYRON. 


THE    FISHERMEN. 

HURRAH  !  the  seaward  breezes 
Sweep  down  the  bay  amain  : 
Heave  up,  my  lads,  the  anchor ! 

Run  up  the  sail  again  ! 
Leave  to  the  lubber  landsmen 
The  rail-car  and  the  steed  : 
The  stars  of  heaven  shall  guide  us, 
The  breath  of  heaven  shall  speed. 

From  the  hill-top  looks  the  steeple, 

And  the  lighthouse  from  the  sand ; 
And  the  scattered  pines  are  waving 

Their  farewell  from  the  land. 
One  glance,  my  lads,  behind  us : 

For  the  homes  we  leave,  one  sigh, 
Ere  we  take  the  change  and  chances 

Of  the  ocean  and  the  sky. 


THE  FISHERMEN.  529 

Hurrah  for  the  Red  Island, 

With  the  white  cross  on  its  crown  ! 
Hurrah  for  Meccatina, 

And  its  mountains  bare  and  brown  ! 
Where  the  Caribou's  tall  antlers 

O'er  the  dwarf-wood  freely  toss, 
And  the  footstep  of  the  Mickmack 

Has  no  sound  upon  the  moss. 


There  we'll  drop  our  lines,  and  gather 

Old  Ocean's  treasures  in, 
Where'er  the  mottled  mackerel 

Turns  up  a  steel-dark  fin. 
The  sea's  our  field  of  harvest, 

Its  scaly  tribes  our  grain  : 
We'll  reap  the  teeming  waters 

As  at  home  they  reap  the  plain. 

Our  wet  hands  spread  the  carpet, 

And  light  the  hearth  of  home  : 
From  our  fish,  as  in  the  old  time, 

The  silver  coin  shall  come. 
As  the  demon  fled  the  chamber 

Where  the  fish  of  Tobit  lay, 
So  ours  from  all  our  dwellings 

Shall  frighten  want  away. 

Though  the  mist  upon  our  jackets 

In  the  bitter  air  congeals, 
And  our  lines  wind  stiff  and  slowly 

From  off  the  frozen  reels ; 


530  TO    THE  SEA. 

Though  the  fog  be  dark  around  us, 
And  the  storm  blow  high  and  loud, — 

We  will  whistle  down  the  wild  wind, 
And  laugh  beneath  the  cloud. 

In  the  darkness  as  in  daylight, 

On  the  water  as  on  land, 
God's  eye  is  looking  on  us, 

And  beneath  us  is  his  hand. 
Death  will  find  us  soon  or  later, 

On  the  deck  or  in  the  cot ; 
And  we  cannot  meet  him  better 

Than  in  working  out  our  lot. 

Hurrah,  hurrah  !  the  west  wind 

Comes  freshening  down  the  bay, 
The  rising  sails  are  filling : 

Give  way,  my  lads,  give  way  ! 
Leave  the  coward  landsman  clinging 

To  the  dull  earth  like  a  weed  : 
The  stars  of  heaven  shall  guide  us, 

The  breath  of  heaven  shall  speed. 

JOHN  GKEENLEAF  WHITTIER. 

TO    THE    SEA. 

THOU  boundless,  shining,  glorious  Sea, 
With  ecstasy  I  gaze  on  thee  : 
Joy,  joy,  to  him  whose  early  beam 
Kisses  thy  lip,  bright  Ocean-stream  ! 

Thanks  for  the  thousand  hours,  old  Sea, 
Of  sweet  communion  held  with  thee  : 


TO    THE  SEA.  531 

Oft  as  I  gazed,  thy  billowy  roll 
Woke  the  deep  feelings  of  my  soul. 

Drunk  -with  the  joy,  thou  deep-toned  Sea, 
My  spirit  swells  to  heaven  with  thee ; 
Or,  sinking  with  thee,  seeks  the  gloom 
Of  nature's  deep,  mysterious  tomb. 

At  evening,  when  the  sun  grows  red, 
Descending  to  his  watery  bed, 
The  music  of  thy  murmuring  deep 
Soothes  e'en  the  weary  Earth  to  sleep. 

Then  listens  thee  the  Evening  Star, 
So  sweetly  glancing  from  afar ; 
And  Luna  hears  thee  when  she  breaks 
Her  light  in  million-colored  flakes. 

Oft,  when  the  noonday  heat  is  o'er, 
I  seek  with  joy  the  breezy  shore, 
Sink  on  thy  boundless,  billowy  breast, 
And  cheer  me  with  refreshing  rest. 

The  poet,  child  of  heavenly  birth, 
Is  suckled  by  the  mother-earth  ; 
But  thy  blue  bosom,  holy  Sea, 
Cradles  his  infant  fantasy. 

The  old  blind  minstrel  on  the  shore 
Stood  listening  thy  eternal  roar, 
And  golden  ages,  long  gone  by, 
Swept  bright  before  his  spirit's  eye. 


532  THE  SEA. 

On  wing  of  swan  the  holy  flame 
Of  melodies  celestial  came  ; 
And  Iliad  and  Odyssey 
Rose  at  the  music  of  the  sea. 


FRIEDRICH  LEOPOLD,  GRAF  zu  STOLBERG. 
TRANSLATION  OF  C.  T.  BROOKS. 


THE    SEA. 

THE  sea,  the  sea  !  the  open  sea  ! 
The  blue,  the  fresh,  the  ever  free  ! 
Without  a  mark,  without  a  bound, 
It  runneth  the  earth's  wide  regions  round ; 
It  plays  with  the  clouds ;  it  mocks  the  skies ; 
Or  like  a  cradled  creature  lies. 

I'm  on  the  sea  !     I'm  on  the  sea  ! 

I  am  where  I  would  ever  be,  — 

With  the  blue  above  and  the  blue  below, 

And  silence  wheresoe'er  I  go  : 

If  a  storm  should  come,  and  awake  the  deep, 

What  matter?     I  shall  ride  and  sleep. 

I  love,  oh  !  how  I  love  to  ride 
On  the  fierce,  foaming,  bursting  tide, 
When  every  mad  wave  drowns  the  moon, 
Or  whistles  aloft  his  tempest-tune, 
And  tells  how  goeth  the  world  below, 
And  why  the  sou '-west  blasts  do  blow. 

I  never  was  on  the  dull,  tame  shore, 
But  I  loved  the  great  Sea  more  and  more, 
And  backward  flew  to  her  billowy  breast, 
Like  a  bird  that  seeketh  its  mother's  nest ; 


FROM  "  THE  FAERIE  QUEENE."  533 

And  a  mother  she  was  and  is  to  me, 
For  I  was  born  on  the  open  sea. 

The  waves  were  white,  and  red  the  morn, 
In  the  noisy  home  where  I  was  born ; 
And  the  whale  it  whistled,  the  porpoise  rolled, 
And  the  dolphins  bared  their  backs  of  gold : 
And  never  was  heard  such  an  outcry  wild 
As  welcomed  to  life  the  ocean-child. 

I've  lived  since  then,  in  calm  and  strife, 
Full  fifty  summers,  a  sailor's  life, 
With  wealth  to  spend,  and  a  power  to  range, 
But  never  have  sought  nor  sighed  for  change ; 
And  Death,  whenever  he  comes  to  me, 
Shall  come  on  the  wild,  unbounded  sea. 

BRYAN  WALLER  PROCTER. 

FROM    "THE    FAERIE    QUEENE." 
(BOOK  in.  CANTO  11.) 

HIS  face  was  rugged,  and  his  hoarie  hed 
Dropped  with  brackish  deaw  :  his  three-forkt  pyke 
He  stearnly  shooke,  and  therwith  fierce  did  stryke 
The  raging  billowes,  that  on  every  syde 
They  trembling  stood,  and  make  a  long  broad  dyke, 
That  his  swift  charet  might  have  passage  wyde, 
Which  foure  great  hippodames  did  draw  in  temewise  tyde. 

His  sea-horses  did  seeme  to  snort  amayne, 
And  from  their  nosethrilles  blow  the  brynie  streame 
That  made  the  sparckling  waves  to  smoke  agayne, 
And  flame  with  gold ;  but  the  white  fomy  creame 
Did  shine  with  silver,  and  shoot  forth  his  beame. 

EDMUND  SPENSER. 


534  IDLING. 

IDLING. 

IN  a  fluted  shell  of  pearl 
Rock  I  idly  on  the  deep ; 
On  its  lip's  rose-tinted  curl 

Rests  my  head,  eyelashes  wed, 
Hide  the  splendor  of  the  sky, 
Where  the  shifting  white  clouds  creep, 
And  the  moon  is  riding  high. 

Through  my  languor  do  I  feel 
(Like  Endymion  the  Fair) 
Her  light  kiss  upon  me  steal ; 

As  of  old  the  goddess  cold, 
Watching  o'er  his  tranced  sleep, 
Lowly  bent,  and  kissed  him  there, 
On  Mount  Latinos'  rocky  steep. 

Now  the  deep  doth  swell  and  sink 
With  the  rise  and  with  the  fall 
Of  sweet  music  ;  link  by  link, 

As  it  winds,  my  soul  it  binds 
In  a  chain  of  melody. 
Sirens  hold  my  heart  in  thrall, 
Singing  down  within  the  sea, 

Till  I  weave  into  a  dream 
Fairy  forms  that  glance  and  go ; 
See  them,  as  they  flit  and  gleam, 

Lightly  glide  through  chambers  wide 
And  the  dimly-lighted  halls 
Of  the  palace  which  below 
Rears  its  glistening  magic  walls. 


LEANDER  SWIMMING.  535 

In  enchanted  bands  I  lie 

Through  the  moonlit  summer  night, 

While  the  hours  glide  slowly  by. 

Throbbing  life,  its  pain  and  strife, 
Fade  in  distant  dimness  now, 
As  when  soft  mists  from  the  sight 
Hide  the  mountain's  towering  brow. 

"  RUTH  EMERSON." 


LEANDER    SWIMMING. 

THEN  at  the  flame  a  torch  fair  Hero  lit, 
And,  o'er  her  head  anxiously  holding  it, 
Ascended  to  the  roof,  and,  leaning  there, 
Lifted  its  light  into  the  darksome  air. 

The  boy  beheld,  —  beheld  it  from  the  sea, 

And  parted  his  wet  locks,  and  breathed  with  glee, 

And  rose  in  swimming  more  triumphantly. 

Smooth  was  the  sea  that  night,  the  lover  strong, 
And  in  the  springy  waves  he  danced  along. 
He  rose,  he  dipped  his  breast,  he  aimed,  he  cut 
With  his  clear  arms,  and  from  before  him  put 
The  parting  waves,  and  in  and  out  the  air 
His  shoulders  felt,  and  trailed  his  washing  hair ; 
But  when  he  saw  the  torch,  oh  !  how  he  sprung 
The  foam  behind,  as  though  he  scorned  the  sea, 
And  parted  his  wet  locks,  and  breathed  with  glee, 
And  rose,  and  panted,  most  triumphantly. 

Arrived  at  last  on  shallow  ground,  he  saw 
The  stooping  light,  as  if  in  haste,  withdraw ; 


536  THE  OCEAN. 

Again  it  issued  just  above  the  door 

With  a  white  hand,  and  vanished  as  before. 

Then  rising,  with  a  sudden-ceasing  sound 

Of  wateriness,  he  stood  on  the  firm  ground, 

And  treading  up  a  little  slippery  bank . 

With  jutting  myrtles  mixed,  and  verdure  dank, 

Came  to  a  door  ajar,  —  all  hushed,  all  blind 

With  darkness  ;  yet  he  guessed  who  stood  behind  ; 

And  entering  with  a  turn,  the  breathless  boy 

A  breathless  welcome  finds,  and  words  that  die  of  joy. 

LEIGH  HUNT. 


THE    OCEAN. 

THOU  wide-rolling  Ocean,  all  hail ! 
Now  brilliant  with  sunbeams,  and  dimpled  with  oars, 
Now  dark  with  the  fresh-blowing  gale, 
While  soft  o'er  thy  bosom  the  cloud-shadows  sail, 
And  the  silver-winged  sea-fowl  on  high 
Like  meteors  bespangle  the  sky, 
Or  dive  in  the  gulf,  or  triumphantly  ride 
Like  foam  on  the  surges,  the  swans  of  the  tide. 

There  are,  gloomy  Ocean  !  a  brotherless  clan 

Who  traverse  thy  banishing  waves, 

The  poor  disinherited  outcasts  of  man, 

Whom  avarice  coins  into  slaves  : 

From  the  homes  of  their  kindred,  their  forefathers'  graves, 

Love,  friendship,  and  conjugal  bliss, 

They  are  dragged  on  the  hoary  abyss : 

The  shark  hears  their  shrieks,  and,  ascending  to-day, 

Demands  of  the  spoiler  his  share  of  the  prey. 

JAMES  MONTGOMERY. 


THE   CRUISE  OF  THE   "MYSTERY."          537 


THE    CRUISE    OP    THE    "MYSTERY.1 

THE  children  wandered  up  and  down, 
Seeking  for  driftwood  o'er  the  sand  : 
The  elder  tugged  at  granny's  gown, 
And  pointed  with  his  little  hand. 

"  Look,  look  ! "  he  cried,  "  at  yonder  ship 
That  sails  so  fast,  and  looms  so  tall ! " 

She  turned,  and  let  her  basket  slip, 
And  all  her  gathered  treasure  fall. 

"  Nay,  granny,  why  are  you  so  pale  ? 

Where  is  the  ship  we  saw  but  now?" 
"  O  child  !  it  was  no  mortal  sail : 

It  came  and  went,  I  know  not  how. 


"  But  ill  winds  fill  that  canvas  white, 
That  blow  no  good  to  you  and  me : 

Oh  !  woe  for  us  who  saw  the  sight 
That  evil  bodes  to  all  who  see." 

They  pressed  about  her,  all  afraid  : 
"  Oh  !  tell  us,  granny,  what  was  she  ?  " 

"  A  ship's  unhappy  ghost,"  she  said, 
"  The  awful  ship,  the  '  Mystery.'  " 

"  But  tell  us,  tell  us  !  "  —  "  Quiet  be  !  " 
She  said  :  "  sit  close,  and  listen  well ; 

For  what  befell  the  '  Mystery  ' 
It  is  a  fearful  thing  to  tell. 


538  THE   CRUISE   OF   THE   "MYSTERY." 

"  She  was  a  slave-ship  long  ago  : 

Year  after  year  across  the  sea 
She  made  a  trade  of  human  woe, 

And  carried  freights  of  misery. 

"  One  voyage,  when  from  the  tropic  coast, 
Laden  with  dusky  forms,  she  came, 

A  wretched  and  despairing  host, 

Beneath  the  fierce  sun's  breathless  flame 

"  Sprang,  like  a  wild  beast  from  its  lair, 

The  fury  of  the  hurricane, 
And  sent  the  great  ship  reeling  bare 

Across  the  roaring  ocean  plain. 

"  Then  terror  seized  the  piteous  crowd  : 
With  many  an  oath  and  cruel  blow 

The  captain  drove  them,  shrieking  loud, 
Into  the  pitch-black  hold  below. 

" '  Make  fast  the  hatchways  strong  and  tight ! ' 
He  shouted  :  '  let  them  live  or  die, 

They'll  trouble  us  no  more  to-night ! ' 
The  crew  obeyed  him  sullenly. 

"Has  hell  such  torment  as  they  knew? 

Like  herded  cattle  packed  they  lay, 
Till  morning  showed  a  streak  of  blue 

Breaking  the  sky's  thick  pall  of  gray. 

" '  Off  with  the  hatchways,  men  ! '     No  sound 
What  sound  should  rise  from  out  a  grave  ? 

The  silence  shook  with  dread  profound 
The  heart  of  every  seaman  brave. 


THE   CRUISE   OF  THE   "MYSTERY."          539 

" '  Quick  !     Drag  them  up,'  the  captain  said, 

1  And  pitch  the  dead  into  the  sea  ! ' 
The  sea  was  peopled  with  the  dead, 

With  wide  eyes  staring  fearfully. 

"  From  weltering  wave  to  wave  they  tossed  : 
Two  hundred  corpses,  stiff  and  stark, 

At  last  were  in  the  distance  lost,  — 
A  banquet  for  the  wandering  shark. 

"  Oh  !  sweetly  the  relenting  day 

Changed,  till  the  storm  had  left  no  trace, 

And  the  whole  awful  ocean  lay 
As  tranquil  as  an  infant's  face. 

"  Abaft  the  wind  hauled  fair  and  fine  : 

Lightly  the  ship  sped  on  her  way ; 
Her  sharp  bows  crushed  the  yielding  brine 

Into  a  diamond  dust  of  spray. 

"  But  up  and  down  the  decks  her  crew 

Shook  their  rough  heads,  and  eyed  askance, 

With  doubt  and  hate  that  ever  grew, 
The  captain's  brutal  countenance, 

"  As  slow  he  paced,  with  frown  as  black 

As  night.     At  last  with  sudden  shout 
He  turned  :  '  'Bout  ship  !     We  will  go  back, 

And  fetch  another  cargo  out ! ' 

"  They  put  the  ship  about  again  : 

His  will  was  law,  they  could  not  choose. 

They  strove  to  change  her  course  in  vain, 
Down  fell  the  wind,  the  sails  hung  loose. 


540  THE   CRUISE   OF  THE   "MYSTERY." 

"  And  from  the  far  horizon  dim 

An  oily  calm  crept  silently 
Over  the  sea  from  rim  to  rim  : 

Still  as  if  anchored  fast  lay  she. 

"  The  sun  set  red,  the  moon  shone  white 
On  idle  canvas  drooping  drear : 

Through  the  vast,  solemn  hush  of  night 
What  is  it  that  the  sailors  hear? 

"  Now  do  they  sleep  —  and  do  they  dream  ? 

Was  that  the  wind's  foreboding  moan? 
From  stem  to  stern  her  every  beam 

Quivered  with  one  unearthly  groan. 

"  Leaped  to  his  feet  then  every  man, 
And  shuddered,  clinging  to  his  mate ; 

And  sun-burnt  cheeks  grew  pale  and  wan, 
Blenched  with  that  thrill  of  terror  great. 

"The  captain  waked,  and  angrily 

Sprang  to  the  deck,  and  cursing  spoke, 

'What  devil's  trick  is  this?'  cried  he. 
No  answer  the  scared  silence  broke. 

"  But  quietly  the  moonlight  clear 
Sent  o'er  the  waves  its  pallid  glow : 

What  stirred  the  water  far  and  near, 
With  stealthy  motion  swimming  slow? 

"  With  measured  strokes  those  swimmers  dread 
From  every  side  came  gathering  fast : 

The  sea  was  peopled  with  the  dead 
That  to  its  cruel  deeps  were  cast. 


THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  "MYSTERY."          541 

"  And  coiling,  curling,  crawling  on, 

The  phantom  troop  pressed  nigh  and  nigher ; 

And  every  dusky  body  shone 
Outlined  in  phosphorescent  fire. 

"  They  gained  the  ship  ;  they  climbed  the  shrouds ; 

They  swarmed  from  keel  to  topmast  high, 
Now  here,  now  there,  like  filmy  clouds, 

Without  a  sound  they  flickered  by. 

"And  where  the  captain  stood  aghast, 
With  hollow,  mocking  eyes  they  came, 

And  bound  him  fast  unto  the  mast 
With  ghostly  ropes  that  bit  like  flame. 

"  Like  maniacs  shrieked  the  startled  crew : 
They  loosed  the  boats,  they  leaped  within ; 

Before  their  oars  the  water  flew, 
They  pulled  as  if  some  race  to  win. 

"  With  spectral  light  all  gleaming  bright 

The  '  Mystery  '  in  the  distance  lay  : 
Away  from  that  accursed  sight 

They  fled  until  the  break  of  day. 

"  And  they  were  rescued ;  but  the  ship, 

The  awful  ship,  the  '  Mystery,'  — 
Her  captain  in  the  dead  men's  grip,  — 

Never  to  any  port  came  she  ; 

"  But  up  and  down  the  roaring  seas 

Forever  and  for  aye  she  sails, 
In  calm  or  storm,  against  the  breeze, 

Unshaken  by  the  wildest  gales. 


542  THE  HAUNTED   GLEN. 

11  And  wheresoe'er  her  form  appears 

Come  trouble  and  disaster  sure ; 
And  she  has  sailed  a  hundred  years, 

And  she  will  sail  forevermore." 

CELIA  THAXTER. 


M 


THE    HAUNTED    GLEN. 

(A    LEGEND   OF   MARBLEHEAD.) 

Y  heart  goes  down  to  an  ancient  town, 


Where  the  roofs  are  gray  and  the  cliffs  are  brown, 
And  over  the  level  sweet  sea-tide 
The  boats  of  the  fishermen  rock  and  glide, 
And  the  sunlight  glints  on  the  quaint  old  streets, 

Crooked  and  winding,  but  oh,  how  dear ! 
And  some  so  lonely  that  one  scarce  meets 

Only  the  neighbors  year  by  year ; 
And  farther  beyond,  oh  the  mossy  knolls  ! 

Where  the  seaside  farms  lie  basking  still, 
And  the  billows  break  as  the  ocean  rolls 

By  rugged  gully  and  sleeping  hill, 

Breathing  a  beauty  too  lone  to  feel 
Lonely.     Yet  sweeter  than  all  beside, 
Flooding  the  heart  like  a  coming  tide, 
To  loiter  and  idle  through  afternoons 
Rich  with  the  roses  of  vanished  Junes, 
And  watch  the  waters  that  far  away 
Glitter  and  heave  through  the  long  bright  bay, 
And  clasp  the  islands  of  Baker's  Light, 

And  the  narrows  by  Beverly's  shores  of  pine, 
And  the  fisher-hamlets,  where  night  by  night 

The  tremulous  gleams  of  the  watch-fires  shine. 


THE  HAUNTED   GLEN.  543 

But,  oh  !  if  you  wish  to  know,  and  bid 

That  I  should  tell  you  over  and  over, 
A  tale  that  I  heard,  when  a  lad,  of  Kidd, 

(Cap'n,  you  know,  Cap'n  Kidd,  the  Rover,) 
And  how  he  landed  one  summer  night, 
With  a  piteous  lady  robed  in  white, 
When  all  the  fishermen  out  at  sea 

Had  never  a  hand  to  help  her  woe, 

And  landward  crept  by  the  night-tide's  flow, 

Stealthy  and  still  as  an  Indian  foe, 
And  thus  in  the  midnight  silently, 
(The  women  and  children  quiet  in  bed,  — 
Women  and  children  of  Marblehead,) 
His  ship  stood  in  with  her  sails  half  spread. 
And  then  and  there  a  deed  was  done, 
Handed  down  from  father  to  son,  — 
Handed  down ;  or  if  you  will, 

Though  years  and  years  have  passed  since  then, 
Some  crippled  crone  will  tell  you  still 

Of  the  Shrieking  Maid  of  the  Haunted  Glen. 

Up  by  the  rocks  of  Barnegat, 
When  all  the  night  was  wet  and  dark, 
And  the  waters  swirled  and  hissed 
Underneath  their  shroud  of  mist, 

Though  the  bay  was  hushed  and  still, 
And  you  heard  the  house-dog's  bark 

Over  the  ledge  of  the  rocky  hill,  — 
Up  through  the  gully  of  Barnegat, 
Where  the  sea-current  gurgled  and  spat, 

Rolling  its  tide-wave  heavy  and  harsh, 
Cleaving  the  beach,  and  flooding  the  flat, 

Through  the  tangled  rushes  of  Norman's  marsh, 


544  THE  HAUNTED   GLEN. 

In  she  came.     Ten  men  that  drew, 
As  a  foeman  draws  his  blade, 
Twenty  oars  that  cut  the  wave, 

Cut  it  through ; 

Nor  to  right  nor  left  she  swayed 
As  the  silent  steersman  drave 
Up  the  sea-gut,  through  the  rocks 
Sheltered  from  the  tidal  shocks,  — 

Silent  boat  and  silent  crew. 

What  lies  there  so  white  and  still 

By  the  lantern  in  the  bows,  — 
White  and  still,  without  a  sound, 
Like  some  wretch  that's  in  a  swound, 
As  the  boat  grinds  with  her  keel? 
What !  can  nothing  start  or  rouse 
That  strange  thing  that  lieth  still 
At  her  bows  ? 

What  is  that,  I  say,  that  seems 
Like  a  heap  of  breathless  clay, 
White  at  times,  then  soft  and  gray, 
As  the  lantern  o'er  it  streams  ? 
Does  it  breathe  ?     What  is  it  —  say. 
Sea-foam  ?     No  :  the  foam  hath  still 
Ever  a  breath,  a  flickering  reel 
To  the  wind's  mouth ;  but  this  gleams 
Like  water  on  a  starlit  night 
In  some  frozen,  land-locked  bight 
Northward  far,  by  phosphor-light. 
And  that  mist-wreath  —  is  it  hair 
Waving  in  the  dusky  air? 
Is't  the  night-wind  ?     No  :  the  cry, 
Pealing  wild  and  clear  and  high, 


THE  HAUNTED   GLEN.  545 

Comes  from  something  dire  distrest, 
Shrill  as  from  a  woman's  breast, 
And  wakens  the  sleepers  ashore.     And  now 
A  form  leaps  up  in  its  cerements  dressed,  — 
It  leaps,  and  stands  at  the  cutter's  bow ! 

Up  rose  the  steersman  as  the  boat 

Lurched  at  the  motion,  and  caught  its  side 

On  the  sea-marsh  flat  in  the  tilting  tide ; 

And  of  all  the  crew  none  else  beside 

Stirred,  or  muttered  a  word  or  an  oath. 

A  sterner  man  was  there  never  afloat, 

Yet  he  moved  like  one  who  was  more  than  loath ; 

And,  as  a  lover  might  lift  his  bride, 

He  lifted  that  burden,  so  child-like  and  slim, 

Lit  by  the  light  from  the  lantern's  rim, 

And  hurled  it  wide  on  the  starlit  air, 

With  a  shriek  and  a  horrible  cry  of  despair,  — 

Out  where  the  current  was  deep  and  dim, 

The  tide  that  sucks  and  gurgles  and  groans 

Through  secret  chasms  and  lichened  stones, 

But  above  to  the  sight  is  calm  and  still, 

Like  a  passionate  face  to  an  iron  will. 

Overhead  from  the  beetling  cliff, 

From  the  fishermen's  hutches,  one  and  all, 
Shrieking  and  wailing  and  wildered,  as  if 

Summoned  and  drawn  by  a  warlock's  call, 
Women  and  children  crowded  and  came,  — 
Some  with  lanterns,  and  some  with  flame 
Of  torches  that  flickered  and  flared ;  and  then 
WTomen  and  children  and  bed-rid  men 


546  THE  HAUNTED   GLEN. 

Saw  at  the  harbor's  mouth  afar, 

Clear  from  the  mist  that  hid  her  at  dark, 

The  raking  masts  of  the  pirates'  bark, 

Her  low,  deep  hull,  and  at  her  head 

A  light  that  gleamed  like  a  swaying  star, 

And  signalled  the  skiff  in  the  gully's  bed. 

And  off  from  shore  sped  the  hurrying  boat ; 

But  never  a  lantern's  gleam  was  there, 
Nor  the  white  still  form  from  whose  strangling  -throat 

That  cry  had  rung  through  the  midnight  air,  — 

That  echo  of  anguish  and  wild  despair. 
They  reach  the  vessel,  they  mount  her  deck  : 

The  boat  is  swung  o'er  the  black  hull's  side ; 
And  soon  she  grows  to  a  faint,  dim  speck 

Over  the  waters  wild  and  wide. 
But  when,  at  the  break  of  the  coming  day, 
The  sun  on  the  shingle  earliest  lay, 
The  fisher-people  softly  came, 
Came  like  children  half-afraid, 
And  found  by  the  crimsoned  morning's  flame 
The  snow-white  form  of  the  murdered  maid. 


And  there,  by  the  stream  where  the  deed  was  done, 

They  buried  her  deep  ere  the  set  of  sun, 

And  wept  for  her,  lovely  and  tender  and  fair, 

Lulled  by  the  tide  that  would  softly  creep 

Through  the  reeds  that  swayed  in  the  summer  air. 

And  often  and  oft  they  would  wake  from  sleep  — 

Simple  people  like  children  they  — 

To  hear  through  the  midnight  a  low,  soft  cry 

As  the  tide  was  tolling  the  stream  away, 

That  first  like  a  moaning  wind  went  by, 


THE  SEA.  547 

And  then  would  deepen  and  swell,  till  men 
Home  from  the  sea  would  shudder,  and  say, 

"  Hark  !  'tis  the  cry  from  the  Haunted  Glen." 
And  women  and  children  trembling  lay 
As  the  wild  shrieks  echoed  and  pealed  again. 
Summer  and  winter,  as  seasons  go, 
In  the  hot  June  air,  or  the  frozen  snow, 
'Neath  the  rustic  bridge  that  spans  the  stream, 
Threading  the  flats  of  the  stagnant  marsh, 
Low  and  gentle,  then  wild  and  harsh, 
You  may  hear  it  now,  as  they  heard  it  then,  — 
The  gurgling  cry  and  the  piercing  scream 
Of  the  Shrieking  Maid  of  the  Haunted  Glen. 

WILLIAM  M.  BRIGGS. 


THE    SEA. 

CREATOR  and  destroyer,  mighty  Sea  ! 
That  in  thy  still  and  solitary  deep 

Dost  at  all  being's  base  thy  vigil  keep, 
And  nurturest  serene  and  potently 
The  slumbering  roots  of  vast  Creation's  tree. 

The  teeming  swarms  of  life  that  swim  and  creep, 

But  half-aroused  from  the  primordial  sleep, 
All  draw  their  evanescent  breath  from  thee. 
The  rock  thou  buildest,  and  the  fleeting  cloud ; 

Thy  billows  in  eternal  circuit  rise 
Through  Nature's  veins,  with  gentle  might  endowed, 

Throbbing  in  beast  and  flower  in  sweet  disguise  : 
In  sounding  currents  roaming  o'er  the  earth, 
They  speed  the  ultimate  pulse  of  death  and  birth. 

HjALMAR   HjORTH   BOYESEN. 


548  THE    VOYAGE   OF  MAELDUNE. 

THE    VOYAGE    OF    MAELDUNE. 

[Founded  on  an  Irish  Legend,  A.D.  700.] 

I. 

I  WAS   the   chief  of  the   race :    he  had   stricken   my 
father  dead ; 
But  I  gathered  my  fellows  together,  I  swore  I  would  strike 

off  his  head. 
Each  of  them  looked  like  a  king,  and  was  noble  in  birth 

as  in  worth ; 
And  each  of  them  boasted  he  sprang  from  the  oldest  race 

upon  earth ; 

Each  was  as  brave  in  the  fight  as  the  bravest  hero  of  song, 
And  each  of  them  liefer  had  died  than  have  done  one 

another  a  wrong. 
He  lived  on  an  isle  in  the  ocean, — we  sailed  on  a  Friday 

morn,  — 
He  that  had  slain  my  father  the  day  before  I  was  born. 

n. 

And  we  came  to  the  isle  in  the  ocean,  and  there  on  the 

shore  was  he ; 
But  a  sudden  blast  blew  us  out  and  away  through  a 

boundless  sea. 

m. 

And  we  came  to  the  Silent  Isle  that  we  never  had  touched 
at  before, 

Where  a  silent  ocean  always  broke  on  a  silent  shore, 

And  the  brooks  glittered  on  in  the  light  without  sound, 
and  the  long  waterfalls 

Poured  in  a  thunderless  plunge  to  the  base  of  the  moun- 
tain walls, 


THE    VOYAGE   OF  MAELDUNE.  540 

And  the  poplar  and  cypress,  unshaken  by  storm,  floui  •she'* 

up  beyond  sight ; 
And  the  pine  shot  aloft  from  the  crag  to  an  unbelievable 

height ; 
And  high  in  the  heaven  above  there  flickered  a  songless 

lark; 
And  the  cock  couldn't  crow,  and  the  bull  couldn't  low, 

and  the  dog  couldn't  bark. 

And  round  it  we  went,  and  through  it ;  but  never  a  mur- 
mur, a  breath : 

It  was  all  of  it  fair  as  life,  it  was  all  of  it  quiet  as  death. 
And  we  hated  the  beautiful  isle,  for,  whenever  we  strove 

to  speak, 
Our  voices  were   thinner   and   fainter  than   any  flitter- 

mouse  shriek ; 
And  the  men  that  were  mighty  of  tongue,  and  could  raise 

such  a  battle-cry 
That  a  hundred  who  heard  it  would  rush  on  a  thousand 

lances,  and  die  — 
Oh,  they  to  be  dumbed  by  the  charm  !  —  so  flustered 

with  anger  were  they, 
They  almost  fell  on  each  other ;  but  after  we  sailed  away. 


IV. 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  Shouting :  we  landed.     A 

score  of  wild  birds 
Cried  from  the  topmost  summit  with  human  voices  and 

words : 
Once  in  an  hour  they  cried ;  and  whenever  their  voices 

pealed, 
The  steer  fell  down  at  the  plough,  and  the  harvest  died 

from  the  field, 


550  THE    VOYAGE   OF  MAELDUNE. 

And  the  men  dropped  dead  in  the  valleys,  and  half  of  the 

cattle  went  lame, 
And  the  roof  sank  in  on  the  hearth,  and  the  dwelling 

broke  into  flame ; 
And  the  shouting  of  these  wild  birds  ran  into  the  hearts 

of  my  crew, 
Till  they  shouted  along  with  the  shouting,  and  seized  one 

another,  and  slew. 
But  I  drew  them  the  one  from  the  other,  I  saw  that  we 

could  not  stay ; 
And  we  left  the  dead  to  the  birds,  and  we  sailed  with  our 

wounded  away. 

v. 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  Flowers  :  their  breath  met  us 

out  on  the  seas, 
For  the  spring  and  the  middle  summer  sat  each  on  the 

lap  of  the  breeze  ; 
And  the  red  passion-flower  to  the  cliffs,  and  the  dark 

blue  clematis,  clung ; 
And  starred  with  a  myriad  blossom  the  long  convolvulus 

hung; 
And  the  topmost  spire  of  the  mountain  was  lilies  in  lieu 

of  snow ; 
And  the  lilies  like  glaciers  winded  down,  running  out 

below 
Through  the  fire  of  the  tulip  and  poppy,  the  blaze  of 

gorse,  and  the  blush 
Of  millions  of  roses  that  sprang  without  leaf  or  a  thorn 

from  the  bush ; 
And  the  whole  isle-side,  flashing  down  from  the  peak 

without  ever  a  tree, 
Swept  like  a  torrent  of  gems  from  the  sky  to  the  blue  of 

the  sea. 


THE    VOYAGE  OF  MAELDUNE.  551 

And  we  rolled  upon  capes  of  crocus,  and  vaunted  our 
kith  and  our  kin, 

And  we  wallowed  in  beds  of  lilies,  and  chanted  the  tri- 
umph of  Finn, 

Till  each  like  a  golden  image  was  pollened  from  head  to 
feet, 

And  each  was  as  dry  as  a  cricket,  with  thirst  in  the  mid- 
dle-day heat. 

Blossom  and  blossom,  and  promise  of  blossom,  but  never 
a  fruit ! 

And  we  hated  the  Flowering  Isle,  as  we  hated  the  isle 
that  was  mute  ; 

And  we  tore  up  the  flowers  by  the  million,  and  flung 
them  in  bight  and  bay, 

And  we  left  but  a  naked  rock ;  and  in  anger  we  sailed 
away. 

VI. 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  Fruits :  all  round  from  the 

cliffs  and  the  capes, 

Purple  or  amber,  dangled  a  hundred  fathom  of  grapes ; 
And  the  warm  melon  lay  like  a  little  sun  on  the  tawny 

sand ; 
And  the  fig  ran  up  from  the  beach,  and  rioted  over  the 

land ; 
And  the  mountain  arose  like  a  jewelled  throne  through 

the  fragrant  air, 
Glowing  with  all-colored  plums  and  with  golden  masses 

of  pear, 
And  the  crimson  and  scarlet  of  berries  that  flamed  upon 

vine  and  vine  : 
But  in  every  berry  and  fruit  was  the  poisonous  pleasure 

of  wine. 


552  THE    VOYAGE   OF  MAELDUNE. 

And  the  peak  of  the  mountain  was  apples,  the  hugest 

that  ever  were  seen  ; 
And  they  pressed  as  they  grew,  on  each  other,  with  hardly 

a  leaflet  between, 
And   all   of  them   redder  than   rosiest   health   or  than 

utterest  shame, 

And  setting,  when  even  descended,  the  very  sunset  aflame. 
And  we  staid  three  days,  and  we  gorged  and  we  mad- 
dened, till  every  one  drew 
His  sword  on  his  fellow  to  slay  him,  and  ever  they  struck 

and  they  slew ; 
And  myself,  I  had  eaten  but  sparely,  and  fought  till  I 

sundered  the  fray, 
Then  I  bade  them  remember  my  father's  death ;  and  we 

sailed  away. 

vn. 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  Fire  :  we  were  lured  by  the 

light  from  afar, 
For  the  peak  sent  up  one  league  of  fire  to  the  Northern 

Star, 
Lured  by  the  glare  and  the  blare,  but  scarcely  could 

stand  upright, 
For  the  whole  isle  shuddered  and  shook  like  a  man  in  a 

mortal  affright ; 
We  were  giddy,  besides,  with  the  fruits  we  had  gorged, 

and  so  crazed,  that  at  last 
There  were  some   leaped  into  the  fire.     And  away  we 

sailed,  and  we  passed 

Over  that  under-sea  isle  where  the  water  is  clearer  than  air : 
Down  we   looked.     What  a  garden  !     O  bliss,  what  a 

paradise  there  ! 

Towers  of  a  happier  time,  low  down  in  a  rainbow  deep, 
Silent  palaces,  quiet  fields  of  eternal  sleep ; 


THE    VOYAGE   OF  MAELDUNE.  553 

And  three  of  the  gentlest  and  best  of  my  people,  what- 

e'er  I  could  say, 
Plunged  head  down  in  the  sea,  and  the  paradise  trembled 

away. 

VIII. 

And  we  came  to  the  Bounteous  Isle,  where  the  heavens 

lean  low  on  the  land, 

And  ever  at  dawn  from  the  cloud  glittered  o'er  us  a  sun- 
bright  land ; 
Then  it  opened,  and  dropped  at  the  side  of  each  man,  as 

he  rose  from  his  rest, 
Bread  enough  for  his  need  till  the  laborless  day  dipped 

under  the  west. 
And  we  wandered  about  it  and  through  it.     Oh,  never 

was  time  so  good  ! 
And  we  sang  of  the  triumphs  of  Finn  and  the  boast  of 

our  ancient  blood ; 
And  we  gazed  at  the  wandering  wave  as  we  sat  by  the 

gurgle  of  springs, 
And  we  chanted  the  songs  of  the  bards  and  the  glories- 

of  fairy  kings. 
But  at  length  we  began  to  be  weary,  to  sigh,  and  to 

stretch  and  yawn, 
Till  we  hated  the  Bounteous  Isle  and  the  sun-bright  hand 

of  the  dawn ; 
For  there  was  not  an  enemy  near,  but  the  whole  green 

isle  was  our  own. 
And  we  took  to  playing  at  ball,  and  we  took  to  throwing 

the  stone, 
And  we  took  to  playing  at  battle ;  but  that  was  a  perilous 

play, 
For  the  passion  of  battle  was  in  us :  we  slew,  and  we 

sailed  away. 


554  THE    VOYAGE  OF  MAELDUNE. 

DC. 
And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  Witches,  and  heard  their 

musical  cry, 

"  Come  to  us,  oh,  come,  come  ! "  in  the  stormy  red  of  a  sky 
Dashing  the  fires  and  the  shadows  of  dawn  on  the  beau- 
tiful shapes ; 
For  a  wild  witch  naked  as  heaven  stood  on  each  of  the 

loftiest  capes, 
And  a  hundred  ranged  on  the  rock,  like  white  sea-birds 

in  a  row, 
And  a  hundred  gambolled  and  pranced  on  the  wrecks  in 

the  sand  below, 
And  a  hundred  splashed  from  the  ledges,  and  bosomed 

the  burst  of  the  spray  • 
But  I  knew  we  should  fall  on  each  other,  and  hastily 

sailed  away. 

x. 

And  we  came  in  an  evil  time  to  the  Isle  of  the  Double 

Towers : 
One  was  of  smooth-cut  stone,  one  carved  all  over  with 

flowers ; 
But  an  earthquake  always  moved  in  the  hollows  under 

the  dells, 
And  they  shocked  on  each  other,  and  butted  each  other 

with  clashing  of  bells  ; 
And  the  daws  flew  out  of  the  towers,  and  jangled  and 

wrangled  in  vain. 
And  the  clash  and  boom  of  the  bells  ran  into  the  heart 

and  the  brain, 
Till  the  passion  of  battle  was  on  us,  and  all  took  sides 

with  the  Towers  : 
There  were   some  for  the   clean-cut  stone,  there  were 

more  for  the  carven  flowers. 


THE    VOYAGE  OF  MAELDUNE.  555 

And  the  wrathful  thunder  of  God  pealed  over  us  all  the 

day, 
For  the  one  half  slew  the  other ;  and  after  we  sailed  away. 

XI. 

And  we  came  to  the  Isle  of  a  Saint  who  had  sailed  with 

St.  Brendan  of  yore  : 
He  had  lived  ever  since  on  the  isle,  and  his  winters  were 

fifteen-score ; 
And  his  voice  was  low  as  from  other  worlds,  and  his  eyes 

were  sweet ; 
And  his  white  hair  sank  to  his  heels,  and  his  white  beard 

fell  to  his  feet. 
And  he  spake  to  me,  "  O  Maeldune,  let  be  this  purpose 

of  thine  ! 

Remember  the  words  of  the  Lord  when  he  told  us  '  Ven- 
geance is  mine  ! ' 

His  fathers  have  slain  thy  fathers  in  war  or  in  single  strife ; 
Thy  fathers  have  slain  his  fathers,  each  taken  a  life  for  a 

life; 
Thy  father  had  slain  his  father :  how  long  shall  the  murder 

last? 
Go  back  to  the  Isle  of  Finn,  and  suffer  the  past  to  be 

past." 
And  we  kissed  the  fringe  of  his  beard ;  and  we  prayed  as 

we  heard  him  pray, 
And  the  holy  man  he  assoiled  us,  and  sadly  we  sailed 

away. 

XII. 

And  we  came  to  the  isle  we  were  blown  from,  and  there 

on  the  shore  was  he, 
The  man  that  had  slain  my  father.     I  saw  him,  and  let 

him  be. 


556    THE  LAST  OF  THE  "  NARWHALE." 

Oh  !  weary  was  I  of  the  travel,  the  trouble,  the  strife,  and 

the  sin, 
When  I  landed  again,  with  a  tithe  of  my  men,  on  the 

Isle  of  Finn. 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 


THE    LAST    OF    THE    "NARWHALE." 

AY,  ay,  I'll  tell  you,  shipmates, 
If  you  care  to  hear  the  tale, 
How  myself  and  the  royal  yard  alone 
Were  left  of  the  old  "  Narwhale." 

A  stouter  ship  was  never  launched 

Of  all  the  Clyde-built  whalers ; 
And  forty  years  of  a  life  at  sea 

Haven't  matched  her  crowd  of  sailors. 
Picked  men  they  were,  all  young  and  strong, 

And  used  to  the  wildest  seas, 
From  Donegal  and  the  Scottish  coast, 

And  the  rugged  Hebrides,  — 
Such  men  as  women  cling  to,  mates, 

Like  ivy  round  their  lives ; 
And  the  day  we  sailed,  the  quays  were  lined 

With  weeping  mothers  and  wives. 
They  cried  and  prayed,  and  we  gave  'em  a  cheer 

In  the  thoughtless  way  of  men. 
God  help  them,  shipmates  !  thirty  years 

They've  waited  and  prayed  since  then. 

We  sailed  to  the  north ;  and  I  mind  it  well, 

The  pity  we  felt,  and  pride, 
When  we  sighted  the  cliffs  of  Labrador 

From  the  sea  where  Hudson  died. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE   "  NARWHALE."         557 

We  talked  of  ships  that  never  came  back ; 

And  when  the  great  floes  passed 
Like  ghosts  in  the  night,  each  moonlit  peak 

Like  a  great  war  frigate's  mast, 
'Twas  said  that  a  ship  was  frozen  up 

In  the  iceberg's  awful  breast, 
The  clear  ice  holding  the  sailor's  face 

As  he  lay  in  his  mortal  rest. 
And  I've  thought  since  then,  when  the  ships  came  home 

That  sailed  for  the  Franklin  band, 
A  mistake  was  made  in  the  reckoning 
*    That  looked  for  the  crews  on  land. 
"  They're  floating  still,"  I've  said  to  myself, 

"  And  Sir  John  has  found  the  goal." 
The  "  Erebus  "  and  the  "  Terror,"  mates, 

Are  icebergs  up  at  the  pole  ! 

We  sailed  due  north,  to  Baffin's  Bay, 

And  cruised  through  weeks  of  light. 
'Twas  always  day,  and  we  slept  by  the  bell, 
.     And  longed  for  the  dear  old  night, 
And  the  blessed  darkness  left  behind, 

Like  a  curtain  round  the  bed ; 
But  a  month  dragged  on  like  an  afternoon, 

With  the  wheeling  sun  o'erhead. 
'  We  found  the  whales  were  farther  still, 

The  farther  north  we  sailed. 
Along  the  Greenland  glacier  coast, 

The  boldest  might  have  quailed, 
Such  shapes  did  keep  us  company. 

No  sail  in  all  that  sea ; 
But  thick  as  ships  in  Mersey's  tide 

The  bergs  moved  awfully 


55$    THE  LAST  OF  THE  " NARWHALE." 

Within  the  current's  northward  stream ; 

But,  ere  the  long  days'  close, 
We  found  the  whales,  and  filled  the  ship 

Amid  the  friendly  floes. 

Then  came  a  rest :  the  day  was  blown 

Like  a  cloud  before  the  night  ; 
In  the  south  the  sun  went  redly  down ; 

In  the  north  rose  another  light, 
Neither  sun  nor  moon,  but  a  shooting  dawn, 

That  silvered  our  lonely  way ; 
It  seemed  we  sailed  in  a  belt  of  gloom, 

Upon  either  side,  a  day. 
The  north  wind  smote  the  sea  to  death, 

The  pack-ice  closed  us  round ; 
The  "  Narwhale  "  stood  in  the  level  fields 

As  fast  as  a  ship  aground. 
A  weary  time  it  was  to  wait, 

And  to  wish  for  spring  to  come, 
With  the  pleasant  breeze  and  the  blessed  sun, 

To  open  the  way  toward  home. 

Spring  came  at  last :  the  ice-fields  groaned 

Like  living  things  in  pain  ; 
They  moaned  and  swayed,  then  rent  amain, 

And  the  "  Narwhale  "  sailed  again. 
With  joy  the  dripping  sails  were  loosed, 

And  round  the  vessel  swung ; 
To  cheer  the  crew,  full  south  she  drew, 

The  shattered  floes  among. 
We  had  no  books  in  those  old  days 

To  carry  the  friendly  faces  ; 
But  I  think  the  wives  and  lasses  then 

Were  held  in  better  places. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  "  NARWHALE."    559 

The  face  of  sweetheart  and  wife  to-day 

Is  locked  in  the  sailor's  chest ; 
But  aloft  on  the  yard,  with  the  thought  of  home, 

The  face  in  the  heart  was  best. 
Well,  well  —  God  knows,  mates,  when  and  where 

To  take  the  things  he  gave. 
We  steered  for  home ;  but  the  chart  was  his, 

And  the  port  ahead  —  the  grave. 
We  cleared  the  floes ;  through  an  open  sea 

The  "  Narwhale  "  south'ard  sailed, 
Till  a  day  came  round  when  the  white  fog  rose, 

And  the  wind  astern  had  failed, 
In  front  of  the  Greenland  glacier  line, 

And  close  to  its  base  were  we  : 
Through  the  misty  pall  we  could  see  the  wall 

That  beetled  above  the  sea. 
A  fear  like  the  fog  crept  over  our  hearts 

As  we  heard  the  hollow  roar 
Of  the  deep  sea  thrashing  the  cliffs  of  ice 

For  leagues  along  the  shore. 

The  years  have  come,  and  the  years  have  gone ; 

But  it  never  wears  away, 
The  sense  I  have  of  the  sights  and  sounds 

That  marked  that  woful  day. 
Flung  here  and  there  at  the  ocean's  will, 

As  it  flung  the  broken  floe, 
What  strength  had  we  'gainst  the  tiger  sea 

That  sports  with  a  sailor's  woe  ? 
The  lifeless  berg  and  the  lifeful  ship 

Were  the  same  to  the  sullen  wave, 
As  it  swept  them  far  from  ridge  to  ridge, 

Till  at  last  the  "  Narwhale  "  drave 


560    THE  LAST  OF  THE  "  NARWHALE." 

With  a  crashing  rail  on  the  glacier  wall, 

As  sheer  as  the  vessel's  mast, 
A  crashing  rail  and  a  shivered  yard  ; 

But  the  worst,  we  thought,  was  past. 
The  brave  lads  sprang  to  the  fending  work, 

And  the  skipper's  voice  rang  hard  : 
"  Aloft  there,  one  with  a  ready  knife  ! 

Cut  loose  that  royal  yard  ! " 
I  sprang  to  the  rigging  (young  I  was, 

And  proud  to  be  first  to  dare,) 
The  yard  swung  free,  and  I  turned  to  gaze 
Toward  the  open  sea,  o'er  the  field  of  haze, 
And  my  heart  grew  cold,  as  if  frozen  through, 
At  the  moving  shape  that  met  my  view  — 

0  Christ !  what  a  sight  was  there  ! 

Above  the  fog,  as  I  hugged  the  yard, 

1  saw  that  an  iceberg  lay  — 

A  berg  like  a  mountain,  closing  fast  — 

Not  a  cable's  length  away  ! 
I  could  not  see  through  the  sheet  of  mist 

That  covered  all  below  ; 
But  I  heard  the  cheery  voices  still, 

And  I  screamed  to  let  them  know. 
The  cry  went  down,  and  the  skipper  hailed ; 

But  before  the  word  could  come 
It  died  in  his  throat,  and  I  knew  they  saw 

The  shape  of  the  closing  doom. 

No  sound  but  that ;  but  the  hail  that  died 
Came  up  through  the  mist  to  me. 

Thank  God  !  it  covered  the  ship  like  a  veil, 
And  I  was  not  forced  to  see. 


THE  LAST  OF  THE  " NARWHALE."         561 

But  I  heard  it,  mates ;  oh,  I  heard  the  rush, 

And  the  timbers  rend  and  rive, 
As  the  yard  I  clung  to  swayed  and  fell. 

—  I  lay  on  the  ice,  alive  ! 
Alive,  O  God  of  mercy !   Ship  and  crew  and  sea 

were  gone  ! 
The  hummocked  ice  and  the  broken  yard, 

And  a  kneeling  man  —  alone. 
A  kneeling  man  on  a  frozen  hill, 

The  sounds  of  life  in  the  air, 
All  death  and  ice  —  and  a  minute  before 

The  sea  and  the  ship  were  there. 
I  could  not  think  they  were  dead  and  gone, 

And  I  listened  for  sound  or  word ; 
But  the  deep  sea  roar  on  the  desolate  shore 

Was  the  only  sound  I  heard. 

0  mates  !  I  had  no  heart  to  thank 
The  Lord  for  the  life  he  gave : 

1  spread  my  arms  on  the  ice,  and  cried 
Aloud  on  my  shipmates'  grave. 

The  brave,  strong  lads,  with  their  strength  all  vain, 

I  called  them  name  by  name  ; 
And  it  seemed  to  me  from  the  dying  hearts 

A  message  upward  came,  — 
Ay,  mates,  a  message,  up  through  the  ice, 

From  every  sailor's  breast : 
"  Go  tell  our  mothers  and  wives  at  home 

To  pray  for  us  here  at  rest" 
Yes,  that's  what  it  means  ;  'tis  a  little  word ; 

But,  mates,  the  strongest  ship 
That  ever  was  built  is  a  baby's  toy 

When  it  copes  with  an  arctic  nip. 

JOHN  BOYLE  O'REILLY. 


562  THE  SAILOR-BOY. 


THE    SAILOR-BOY. 

HE  rose  at  dawn,  and,  fired  with  hope, 
Shot  o'er  the  seething  harbor-bar, 
And  reached  the  ship,  and  caught  the  rope, 
And  whistled  to  the  morning  star. 

And  while  he  whistled  long  and  loud, 

He  heard  a  fierce  mermaiden  cry, 
"  O  boy  !  though  thou  art  young  and  proud, 

I  see  the  place  where  thou  wilt  lie. 

"  The  sands  and  yeasty  surges  mix 

In  caves  about  the  dreary  bay ; 
And  on  thy  limbs  the  limpet  sticks, 

And  in  thy  heart  the  scrawl  shall  play." 

"  Fool,"  he  answered,  "  death  is  sure. 

To  those  that  stay,  and  those  that  roam ; 
But  I  will  nevermore  endure 

To  sit  with  empty  hands  at  home. 

"  My  mother  clings  about  my  neck, 
My  sisters  crying,  '  Stay,  for  shame  ! ' 

My  father  raves  of  death  and  wreck : 

They  are  all  to  blame,  they  are  all  to  blame. 

"  God  help  me  !  save  I  take  my  part 

Of  danger  on  the  roaring  sea, 
A  devil  rises  in  my  heart 

Far  worse  than  any  death  to  me." 

ALFRED  TENNYSON. 


BOATMAN'S  HYMN.  563 

WELLEN-GEHEIMNESS. 

THE  sparkling  surface  of  the  solemn  sea 
Dimples  and  laughs ;  and  little  waves  in  play, 
Chasing  each  other  round  the  curving  bay, 
Come  tumbling  on  the  shore  right  merrily ; 

But,  far  beneath  this  sunlit  joy  we  see, 
The  mighty  heart  of  ocean  throbs  alway : 
In  violet  glooms  slowly  the  seaflowers  sway 
Above  still  pearls  that  glimmer  silently. 

So,  dear,  the  careless  gayety  you  wear, 

The  thoughtless  mien,  but  as  a  masking  show, 

Hides  the  brave  heart,  where  calmly  ebb  and  flow 

The  silent  tides  round  blossoms,  yet  more  fair, 

Of  thought  and  worth,  through  unknown  depths,  that  bear 

Yet  purer  pearls  in  grander  glooms  below. 

AFTER  A  MOTIF  OF  GEIBEL'S. 


BOATMAN'S    HYMN. 
[The  following  ode  had  its  origin  on  the  west  coast  of  Ireland.] 

BARK  that  bears  me  through  foam  and  squall, 
You  in  the  storm  are  my  castle-wall : 
Though  the  sea  should  redden  from  bottom  to  top, 
From  tiller  to  mast  she  takes  no  drop. 
On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top, 
Wherry  aroon,  my  land  and  store  ! 
On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top, 
She  is  the  boat  can  sail  go-leor. 


564  A   SEA-DREAM. 

She  dresses  herself,  and  goes  gliding  on, 
Like  a  dame  in  her  robes  of  the  Indian  lawn  j 
For  God  has  blessed  her,  gunnel  and  wale  : 
And  oh  !  if  you  saw  her  stretch  out  to  the  gale, 
On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top,  etc. 

"  Whillan,  ahoy  !  old  heart  of  stone, 
Stooping  so  black  o'er  the  beach  alone, 
Answer  me  well  —  on  the  bursting  brine 
Saw  you  ever  a  bark  like  mine?  " 

On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top,  etc. 

Says  Whillan,  "  Since  first  I  was  made  of  stone, 
I  have  looked  abroad  o'er  the  beach  alone ; 
But  till  to-day,  on  the  bursting  brine 
Saw  I  never  a  bark  like  thine." 

On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top,  etc. 

"  God  of  the  air  !  "  the  seamen  shout 
When  they  see  us  tossing  the  brine  about : 
"  Give  us  a  shelter  of  strand  or  rock, 
Or  through  and  through  us  she  goes  with  a  shock  ! " 
On  the  tide  top,  the  tide  top,  etc. 

ANONYMOUS.    TRANSLATED  BY  SIR  SAMUEL  FERGUSON. 


A    SEA-DREAM. 

WE  saw  the  slow  tides  go  and  come, 
The  curving  surf-lines  lightly  drawn, 
The  gray  rocks  touched  with  tender  bloom 
Beneath  the  fresh-blown  rose  of  dawn. 


A   SEA-DREAM.  565 

We  saw,  in  richer  sunsets  lost, 

The  sombre  pomp  of  showery  noons, 

And  signalled  spectral  sails  that  crossed 
The  weird,  low  light  of  rising  moons. 

On  stormy  eves,  from  cliff  and  head 

We  saw  the  white  spray  tossed  and  spurned ; 

While  over  all,  in  gold  and  red, 

Its  face  of  fire  the  lighthouse  turned. 

The  rail-car  brought  its  daily  crowds, 

Half  curious,  half  indifferent. 
Like  passing  sails  or  floating  clouds, 

We  saw  them  as  they  came  and  went. 

But  one  calm  morning,  as  we  lay 

And  watched  the  mirage-lifted  wall 
Of  coast  across  the  dreamy  bay, 

And  heard  afar  the  curlew  call, 

And  nearer  voices,  wild  or  tame, 

Of  airy  flock  and  childish  throng, 
Up  from  the  water's  edge  there  came 

Faint  snatches  of  familiar  song. 

Careless  we  heard  the  singer's  choice 

Of  old  and  common  airs  :  at  last 
The  tender  pathos  of  his  voice 

In  one  low  chanson  held  us  fast,  — 

A  song  that  mingled  joy  and  pain, 

And  memories  old  and  sadly  sweet ; 
While,  timing  to  its  minor  strain, 

The  waves  in  lapsing  cadence  beat. 


566  A   SEA-DREAM. 

The  waves  are  glad  in  breeze  and  sun, 
The  rocks  are  fringed  with  foam  : 

I  walk  once  more  a  haunted  shore, 
A  stranger,  yet  at  home  — 
A  land  of  dreams  I  roam. 

Is  this  the  wind,  the  soft  sea-wind, 
That  stirred  thy  locks  of  brown  ? 

Are  these  the  rocks  whose  mosses  knew 
The  trail  of  thy  light  gown 
Where  boy  and  girl  sat  down? 

I  see  the  gray  fort's  broken  wall, 
The  boats  that  rock  below, 

And  out  at  sea  the  passing  sails 
We  saw  so  long  ago, 
Rose-red  in  morning's  glow. 

The  freshness  of  the  early  time 
On  every  breeze  is  blown  : 

As  glad  the  sea,  as  blue  the  sky,  — 
The  change  is  ours  alone ; 
The  saddest  is  my  own. 

A  stranger  now,  a  world-worn  man, 
Is  he  who  bears  my  name  ; 

But  thou,  methinks,  whose  mortal  life 
.  Immortal  youth  became, 
Art  evermore  the  same. 

Thou  art  not  here,  thou  art  not  there ; 
Thy  place  I  cannot  see  : 

I  only  know  that  where  thou  art 
The  blessed  angels  be, 
And  heaven  is  glad  for  thee. 


A   SEA-DREAM.  567 

Forgive  me  if  the  evil  years 

Have  left  on  me  their  sign ; 
Wash  out,  O  soul  so  beautiful, 

The  many  stains  of  mine 

In  tears  of  love  divine  ! 

I  could  not  look  on  thee  and  live 

If  thou  wert  by  my  side  : 
The  vision  of  a  shining  one, 

The  white  and  heavenly  bride, 

Is  well  to  me  denied. 

But  turn  to  me  that  dear  girl-face 

Without  the  angel's  crown, 
The  wedded  roses  of  thy  lips, 

Thy  loose  hair  rippling  down 

In  waves  of  golden  brown. 

Look  forth  once  more  through  space  and  time, 

And  let  thy  sweet  shade  fall 
In  tenderest  grace  of  soul  and  form 

On  memory's  frescoed  wall  — 

A  shadow,  and  yet  all. 

Draw  near,  more  near,  forever  dear  ! 

Where'er  I  rest  or  roam, 
Or  in  the  city's  crowded  streets, 

Or  by  the  blown  sea-foam, 

The  thought  of  thee  is  home. 


At  breakfast-hour  the  singer  read 
The  city  news,  with  comment  wise, 

Like  one  who  felt  the  pulse  of  trade 
Beneath  his  finger  fall  and  rise. 


568  THE    TREASURES  OF  THE  DEEP. 

His  look,  his  air,  his  curt  speech,  told 
The  man  of  action,  not  of  books, 

To  whom  the  corners  made  in  gold 

And  stocks  were  more  than  seaside  nooks. 

Of  life  beneath  the  life  confessed 

His  song  had  hinted  unawares  ; 
Of  flowers  in  traffic's  ledgers  pressed ; 

Of  human  hearts  in  bulls  and  bears. 

But  eyes  in  vain  were  turned  to  watch 

That  face  so  hard  and  shrewd  and  strong ; 

And  ears  in  vain  grew  sharp  to  catch 
The  meaning  of  that  morning  song. 

In  vain  some  sweet-voiced  querist  sought 
To  sound  him,  leaving  as  she  came  : 

Her  baited  album  only  caught 
A  common,  unromantic  name. 

No  word  betrayed  the  mystery  fine 
That  trembled  on  the  singer's  tongue  : 

He  came  and  went,  -and  left  no  sign 
Behind  him  save  the  song  he  sung. 

JOHN  GREENLEAF  WHITTIER. 


THE    TREASURES    OF    THE    DEEP. 

WHAT  hid'st  thou  in  thy  treasure  caves  and  cells, 
Thou  hollow-sounding  and  mysterious  main? 
Pale  glistening  pearls,  and  rainbow-colored  shells, 
Bright  things  which  gleam  unrecked-of,  and  in  vain. 
Keep,  keep  thy  riches,  melancholy  Sea  ! 
We  ask  not  such  from  thee. 


THE    TREASURES  OF  THE  DEEP.  569 

Yet  more,  the  depths  have  more.     What  wealth  untold, 
Far  down,  and  shining  through  their  stillness,  lies  ! 
Thou  hast  the  starry  gems,  the  burning  gold, 
Won  from  ten  thousand  royal  Argosies. 
Sweep  o'er  thy  spoils,  thou  wild  and  wrathful  main  ! 
Earth  claims  not  these  again. 

Yet  more,  the  depths  have  more.     Thy  waves  have  rolled 
Above  the  cities  of  a  world  gone  by : 
Sand  hath  filled  up  the  palaces  of  old, 
Seaweed  o'ergrown  the  halls  of  revelry. 
Dash  o'er  them,  Ocean,  in  thy  scornful  play  ! 
Man  yields  them  to  decay. 

Yet  more,  the  billows  and  the  depths  have  more. 
High  hearts  and  brave  are  gathered  to  thy  breast : 
They  hear  not  now  the  booming  waters  roar, 
The  battle-thunders  will  not  break  their  rest. 
Keep  thy  red  gold  and  gems,  thou  stormy  grave  ! 
Give  back  the  true  and  brave  ! 

Give  back  the  lost  and  lovely,  —  those  for  whom 
The  place  was  kept  at  board  and  hearth  so  long, 
The  prayer  went  up  through  midnight's  breathless  gloom, 
And  the  vain  yearning  woke  midst  festal  song. 
Hold  fast  thy  buried  isles,  thy  towers  o'erthrown ; 
But  all  is  not  thine  own. 

To  thee  the  love  of  woman  hath  gone  down ; 
Dark  flow  thy  tides  o'er  manhood's  noble  head, 
O'er  youth's  bright  locks,  and  beauty's  flowery  crown : 
Yet  must  thou  hear  a  voice,  —  restore  the  dead  ! 
Earth  shall  reclaim  her  precious  things  from  thee  : 
Restore  the  dead,  thou  Sea  ! 

FELICIA  HEMANS. 


570  THE  ARMADA. 


THE  ARMADA. 

A   TTEND,  all  ye  who  list  to  hear  our  noble  England's 
_1JL  praise; 
I  tell  of  the  thrice-famous  deeds  she  wrought  in  ancient 

days, 

When  that  great  fleet  invincible  against  her  bore  in  vain 
The  richest  spoils  of  Mexico,  the  stoutest  hearts  of  Spain, 

It  was  about  the  lovely  close  of  a  warm  summer  day 
There  came  a  gallant  merchant-ship  full  sail  to  Plymouth 

Bay: 
Her  crew  hath  seen  Castile's  black  fleet  beyond  Aurigny's 

isle, 

At  earliest  twilight,  on  the  waves  lie  heaving  many  a  mile. 
At  sunrise  she  escaped  their  van,  by  God's  especial  grace ; 
And  the  tall  "  Pinta  "  till  the  noon  had  held  her  close  in 

chase. 

Forthwith  a  guard  at  every  gun  was  placed  along  the  wall ; 
The  beacon  blazed  upon  the  roof  of  Edgecumbe's  lofty 

hall; 

Many  a  light  fishing-bark  put  out  to  pry  along  the  coast, 
And  with  loose  rein  and  bloody  spur  rode  inland  many  a 

post. 

With  his  white  hair  unbonneted,  the  stout  old  sher- 
iff comes : 
Behind  him  march  the  halberdiers ;  before  him  sound  the 

drums ; 
His  yeomen  round  the  market- cross  make  clear  an  ample 

space, 
For  there  behooves  him  to  set  up  the  standard  of  her 

Grace. 


THE  ARMADA.  571 

And  haughtily  the  trumpets  peal,  and  gayly  dance  the 

bells, 

As  slow  upon  the  laboring  wind  the  royal  blazon  swells. 
Look  how  the  Lion  of  the  Sea  lifts  up  his  ancient  crown, 
And   underneath   his   deadly  paw  treads   the   gay  lilies 

down. 
So  stalked  he  when  he  turned  to  flight,  on  that  famed 

Picard  field, 
Bohemia's  plume,  and  Genoa's  bow,  and  Caesar's  eagle 

shield : 
So  glared  he  when  at  Agincourt  in  wrath  he  turned  to 

bay, 
And  crushed  and  torn^beneath  his  claws  the  princely 

hunters  lay. 
Ho  !   strike  the   flagstaff  deep,  sir  knight ;   ho !   scatter 

flowers,  fair  maids ; 
Ho,  gunners  !  fire  a  loud  salute  ;  ho,  gallants  !  draw  your 

blades ; 
Thou  sun,  shine  on  her  joyously;  ye  breezes,  waft  her 

wide, 
Our  glorious  SEMPER  EADEM,  the  banner  of  our  pride. 

The  freshening  breeze  of  eve  unfurled  that  banner's 
massy  fold ; 

The  parting  gleam  of  sunshine  kissed  that  haughty  scroll 
of  gold ; 

Night  sank  upon  the  dusky  beach  and  on  the  purple 
sea; 

Such  night  in  England  ne'er  had  been,  nor  e'er  again 
shall  be. 

From  Eddystone  to  Berwick  bounds,  from  Lynn  to  Mil- 
ford  Bay, 

That  time  of  slumber  was  as  bright  and  busy  as  the  day ; 


572  THE  ARMADA. 

For  swift  to  east,  and  swift  to  west,  the  ghastly  war-flame 

spread  ; 
High   on   St.   Michael's   Mount  it   shone,  it   shone   on 

Beachy  Head. 
Far  on  the  deep  each  Spaniard  saw  along  each  southern 

shire, 
Cape   beyond   cape,  in    endless  range,  those  twinkling 

points  of  fire. 
The  fisher  left  his  skiff  to  rock  on  Tamar's  glittering 

waves ; 
The  rugged  miners  poured  to  war  from  Mendip's  sunless 

caves ; 
O'er  Longleat's  towers,  o'er  Cranbourne's  oaks,  the  fiery 

herald  flew, 
He  roused  the  shepherds  of  Stonehenge,  the  rangers  of 

Beaulieu. 
Right  sharp  and  quick  the  bells  all  night  rang  out  from 

Bristol  town, 
And  ere  the  day  three  hundred  horse  had  met  on  Clifton 

Down. 

The  sentinel  on  Whitehall  Gate  looked  forth  into  the  night, 
And  saw  o'erhanging  Richmond  Hill  the  streak  of  blood- 
red  light. 
Then    bugle's   note   and   cannon's   roar   the   death-like 

silence  broke, 

And  with  one  start  and  with  one  cry  the  royal  city  woke. 
At  once  on  all  her  stately  gates  arose  the  answering  fires ; 
At  once  the  wild  alarum  clashed  from  all  her  reeling 

spires ; 
From  all  the  batteries  of  the  Tower  pealed  loud  the  voice 

of  fear, 
And  all  the  thousand  masts  of  Thames  sent  back  a  louder 

cheer ; 


THE  ARMADA.  573 

And  from  the  furthest  wards  was  heard  the  rush  of  hurry- 
ing feet, 
And  the  broad  streams  of  pikes  and  flags  rushed  down 

each -roaring  street. 

And  broader  still  became  the  blaze,  and  louder  still  the  din, 
As  fast  from  every  village  round  the  horse  came  spurring  in  ; 
And  eastward  straight  from  wild  Blackheath  the  warlike 

errand  went, 
And  roused  in  many  an  ancient  hall  the  gallant  squires 

of  Kent. 
Southward  from  Surrey's  pleasant  hill  flew  those  bright 

couriers  forth  ; 
High  on  bleak  Hampstead's  swarthy  moor  they  started 

for  the  north ; 
And  on  and  on,  without  a  pause,  untired,  they  bounded 

still ; 
All  night  from  tower  to  tower  they  sprang ;  they  sprang 

from  hill  to  hill, 
Till  the  proud  peak  unfurled  the  flag  o'er  Darwin's  rocky 

dales, 
Till  like  volcanoes  flared  to  heaven  the  stormy  hills  of 

Wales ; 
Till  twelve  fair  counties  saw  the  blaze  on  Malvern's  lonely 

height ; 
Till  streamed  in  crimson  on  the  wind  the  Wrekin's  crest 

of  light ; 
Till  broad  and  fierce  the  star  came  forth  on  Ely's  stately 

fane, 
And  tower  and  hamlet  rose  in  arms  o'er  all  the  boundless 

plain ; 

Till  Belvoir's  lordly  terraces  the  sign  to  Lincoln  sent, 
And  Lincoln  sped  the  message  on  o'er  the  wide  vale  of 

Trent ; 


574  THE  SHIPWRECK. 

Till  Skiddaw  saw  the  fire  that  burned  on  Gaunt's  em- 
battled pile, 

And  the  red  glare  on  Skiddaw  roused  the  burghers  of 
Carlisle. 


THOMAS  BABINGTON  MACAULAY. 


THE    SHIPWRECK. 

BUT  list !  a  low  and  moaning  sound 
At  distance  heard,  like  a  spirit's  song ; 
And  now  it  reigns  above,  around, 

As  if  it  called  the  ship  along. 
The  moon  is  sunk,  and  a  clouded  gray 

Declares  that  her  course  is  run ; 
And  like  a  god  who  brings  the  day, 

Up  mounts  the  glorious  sun. 
Soon  as  his  light  has  warmed  the  seas, 
From  the  parting  cloud  fresh  blows  the  breeze ; 
And  that  is  the  spirit  whose  well-known  song 
Makes  the  vessel  to  sail  in  joy  along. 
No  fears  hath  she  :  her  giant  form 
O'er  wrathful  surge,  through  blackening  storm, 
Majestically  calm  would  go 
Mid  the  deep  darkness  white  as  snow ; 
But  gently  now  the  small  waves  glide, 
Like  playful  lambs  o'er  a  mountain's  side. 
So  stately  her  bearing,  so  proud  her  array, 
The  main  she  will  traverse  for  ever  and  aye. 
Many  ports  will  exult  at  the  gleam  of  her  mast  — 
Hush,  hush,  thou  vain  dreamer  !  this  hour  is  her  last. 
Five  hundred  souls  in  one  instant  of  dread 


THE  SHIPWRECK.  575 

Are  hurried  o'er  the  deck, 
And  fast  the  miserable  ship 

Becomes  a  lifeless  wreck. 
Her  keel  hath  struck  on  a  hidden  rock, 

Her  planks  are  torn  asunder, 
And  down  come  her  masts  with  a  reeling  shock, 

And  a  hideous  crash  like  thunder. 
Her  sails  are  draggled  in  the  brine, 

That  gladdened  late  the  skies ; 
And  her  pennant,  that  kissed  the  fair  moonshine, 

Down  many  a  fathom  lies. 
Her  beauteous  sides,  whose  rainbow  hues 

Gleamed  softly  from  below, 
And  flung  a  warm  and  sunny  flush 

O'er  the  wreaths  of  murmuring  snow, 
To  the  coral-rocks  are  hurrying  down 
To  sleep  amid  colors  as  bright  as  their  own. 
Oh  !  many  a  dream  was  in  the  ship 

An  hour  before  her  death ; 
And  sights  of  home  with  sighs  disturbed 

The  sleeper's  long-drawn  breath. 
Instead  of  the  murmur  of  the  sea, 
The  sailor  heard  the  humming-tree, 

Alive  through  all  its  leaves, 
The  hum  of  the  spreading  sycamore 
That  grows  before  his  cottage-door, 
•  And  the  swallow's  song  in  the  eaves. 
His  arms  enclosed  a  blooming  boy, 
Who  listened  with  tears  of  sorrow  and  joy 

To  the  dangers  his  father  had  passed ; 
And  his  wife  —  by  turns  she  wept  and  smiled 
As  she  looked  on  the  father  of  her  child 

Returned  to  her  heart  at  last. 


576  THE   OCR  AX. 

He  wakes  at  the  vessel's  sudden  roll, 
And  the  rush  of  waters  is  in  his  soul. 
Astounded,  the  reeling  deck  he  paces, 
Mid  hurrying  forms  and  ghastly  faces. 

The  whole  ship's  crew  are  there  — 
Wailing  around  and  overhead, 
Brave  spirits  stupefied  or  dead, 

And  madness  and  despair. 

Now  is  the  ocean's  bosom  bare, 

Unbroken  as  the  floating  air  ; 

The  ship  hath  melted  quite  away, 

Like  a  struggling  dream  at  break  of  day. 

No  image  meets  my  wandering  eye, 

But  the  new-risen  sun  and  the  sunny  sky. 

Though  the  night-shades  are  gone,  yet  a  vapor  dull 

Bedims  the  waves  so  beautiful, 

While  a  low  and  melancholy  moan 

Mourns  for  the  glory  that  hath  flown. 

JOHN  WILSON  (CHRISTOPHER  NORTH). 


THE    OCEAN. 
(FROM  "THE  COURSE  OF  TIME.") 

GREAT  Ocean  !  strongest  of  Creation's  sons, 
Unconquerable,  unreposed,  untired, 
That  rolled  the  wild,  profound,  eternal  bass, 
In  nature's  anthem,  and  made  music  such 
As  pleased  the  ear  of  God  ;  original, 
Unmarred,  unfaded  work  of  Deity, 
And  unburlesqued  by  mortal's  puny  skill. 
From  age  to  age  enduring  and  unchanged ; 


THE   OCEAN.  577 

Majestical,  inimitable,  vast; 

Loud  uttering  satire  day  and  night  on  each 

Succeeding  race  and  little  pompous  work 

Of  man.     Unfallen,  religious,  holy  Sea  ! 

Thou  bowedst  thy  glorious  head  to  none,  fearedst  none, 

Heardst  none,  to  none  didst  honor,  but  to  God 

Thy  Maker,  only  worthy  to  receive 

Thy  great  obeisance.     Undiscovered  Sea  ! 

Into  thy  dark,  unknown,  mysterious  caves, 

And  secret  haunts  unfathomably  deep, 

Beneath  all  visible  retired,  none  went 

And  came  again  to  tell  the  wonders  there. 

Tremendous  Sea  !  what  time  thou  lifted  up 

Thy  waves  on  high,  and  with  thy  winds  and  storms 

Strange  pastime  took,  and  shook  thy  mighty  sides 

Indignantly,  the  pride  of  navies  fell ; 

Beyond  the  arm  of  help,  unheard,  unseen, 

Sunk  friend  and  foe,  with  all  their  wealth  and  war ; 

And  on  thy  shores,  men  of  a  thousand  tribes, 

Polite  and  barbarous,  trembling  stood,  amazed, 

Confounded,  terrified,  and  thought  vast  thoughts 

Of  ruin,  boundlessness,  omnipotence, 

Infinitude,  eternity  ;  and  thought, 

And  wondered  still,  and  grasped  and  grasped,  and 

grasped, 

Again  ;  beyond  her  reach  exerting  all 
The  soul  to  take  thy  great  idea  in, 
To  comprehend  incomprehensible, 
And  wondered  more,  and  felt  their  littleness. 
Self- purify  ing,  unpolluted  Sea  ! 
Lover  unchangeable,  thy  faithful  breast 
Forever  heaving  to  the  lovely  moon, 
That  like  a  shy  and  holy  virgin,  robed 


578  .         THE  AMBER-WHALE. 

In  saintly  white,  walked  nightly  in  the  heavens, 

And  to  thy  everlasting  serenade 

Gave  gracious  audience,  nor  was  wooed  in  vain. 

ROBERT  POLLOK. 


THE    AMBER-WHALE. 

WE  were  down  in  the  Indian  Ocean,  after  sperm,  and 
three  years  out, 

The  last  six  months  in  the  tropics,  and  looking  in  vain  for 
a  spout, 

Five  men  up  on  the  royal  yards,  weary  of  straining  their 
sight, 

And  every  day  like  its  brother, — just  morning  and  noon 
and  night. 

Nothing  to  break  the  sameness,  water  and  wind  and  sun 

Motionless,  gentle,  and  blazing,  —  never  a  change  in  one. 

Every  day  like  its  brother  :  when  the  noonday  eight-bells 
came, 

'Twas  like  yesterday ;  and  we  seemed  to  know  that  to- 
morrow would  be  the  same. 

The  foremast  hands  had  a  lazy  time :  there  was  never  a 
thing  to  do ; 

The  ship  was  painted,  tarred  down,  and  scraped ;  and 
the  mates  had  nothing  new. 

We'd  worked  at  sinnet  and  ratline  till  there  wasn't  a  yarn 
to  use ; 

And  all  we  could  do  was  watch  and  pray  for  a  sperm- 
whale's  spout,  or  news. 

It  was  whaler's  luck  of  the  vilest  sort ;  and,  though  many 
a  volunteer 

Spent  his  watch  below  on  the  lookout,  never  a  whale  came 
near,  — 


THE  AMBER-WHALE.  579 

At  least  of  the  kind  we  wanted.    There  were  lots  of  whales 

of  a  sort,  — 
Killers  and  finbacks,  and  such  like,  as  if  they  enjoyed  the 

sport 

Of  seeing  a  whale-ship  idle ;  but  we  never  lowered  a  boat 
For  less  than  a  blackfish  —  there's  no  oil  in  a  killer's  or 

finback's  coat. 
There  was  rich  reward  for  the  lookout  men,  —  tobacco  for 

even  a  sail, 
And  a  barrel  of  oil  for  the  lucky  dog  who'd  be  first  to 

"raise  "  a  whale. 
The  crew  was  a  mixture  from  every  land,  and  many  a 

tongue  they  spoke ; 
And  when  they  sat  in  the  fo'castle,  enjoying  an  evening 

smoke, 
There  were  tales  told,  youngster,  would  make  you  stare,  — 

stories  of  countless  shoals 

Of  devil-fish  in  the  Pacific,  and  right-whales  away  at  the  poles. 
There  was  one  of  those  fo'castle  yarns  that  we  always 

loved  to  hear. 

Kanaka  and  Maori  and  Yankee,  all  lent  an  eager  ear 
To  that  strange  old  tale  that  was  always  new,  —  the  won- 
derful treasure-tale 
Of  an  old  Down-Eastern  harpooner  who  had  struck  an 

amber-whale. 
Ay,  that  was  a  tale  worth  hearing,  lads  :  if  'twas  true  we 

couldn't  say, 
Or  if  'twas  a  yarn  old  Mat  had  spun  to  while  the  time  away. 

"  It's  just  fifteen  years  ago,"  said  Mat,  "  since  I  shipped 

as  harpooner 
On  board  a  bark  in  New  Bedford,  and  came  cruising 

somewhere  near 


580  THE  AMBER-WHALE. 

To  this  whaling-ground  we're  cruising  now.     But  whales 

were  plenty  then, 
And  not  like  now,  when  we  scarce  get  oil  to  pay  for  the 

ship  and  men. 
There    were  none   of  these   oil-wells    running   then,  at 

least  what  shore-folk  term 

An  oil-well  in  Pennsylvania ;  but  sulphur-bottom  and  sperm 
Were  plenty  as  frogs  in  a  mud-hole,  and  all  of  'em  big 

whales  too  : 

One  hundred  barrels  for  sperm-whales,  and  for  sulphur- 
bottom,  two. 

You  couldn't  pick  out  a  small  one  :  the  littlest  calf  or  cow 
Had  a  sight  more  oil  than  the  big  bull-whales  we  think  so 

much  of  now. 
We  were  more  to  the  east,  off  Java  Straits,  a  little  below 

the  mouth,  — 
A  hundred  and  five  to  the  east'ard,  and  nine  degrees  to 

the  south ; 
And  that  was  as  good  a  whaling-ground  for  middle-sized, 

handy  whales 

As  any  in  all  the  ocean ;  and  'twas  always  white  with  sails 
From  Scotland    and    Hull  and  New   England,  for   the 

whales  were  thick  as  frogs, 
And  'twas  little  trouble  to  kill  'em  then,  for  they  lay  as 

quiet  as  logs. 
And  every  night  we'd  go  visiting  the  other  whale-ships 

'round, 
Or  p'r'aps  we'd  strike  on  a  Dutchman,  calmed  off  the 

Straits,  and  bound 
To   Singapore   or   Batavia,  with  plenty  of  schnapps  to 

sell 
For  a  few  whales'  teeth,  or  a  gallon  of  oil,  and  the  latest 

news  to  tell. 


THE  AMBER-WHALE.  581 

And  in  every  ship  of  that  whaling-fleet  was  one  wonder- 
ful story  told,  — 

How  an  amber-whale  had  been  seen  that  year  that  was 
worth  a  mint  of  gold. 

And  one  man,  mate  of  a  Scotchman,  said  he'd  seen,  away 
to  the  west, 

A  big  school  of  sperm,  and  -one  whale's  spout  was  twice 
as  high  as  the  rest. 

And  we  knew  that  that  was  the  amber-whale,  for  we'd 
often  heard  before 

That  his  spout  was  twice  as  thick  as  the  rest,  and  a  hun- 
dred feet  high  or  more. 

And  often,  when  the  lookout  cried,  l  He  blows  ! '  the 
very  hail 

Thrilled  every  heart  with  the  greed  of  gold,  for  we 
thought  of  the  amber-whale. 

"  But  never  a  sight  of  his  spout  we  saw  till  the  season 

there  went  round, 
And   the   ships  ran   down  to  the  south'ard  to  another 

whaling-ground. 
We  staid  to  the  last  off  Java ;  and  then  we  ran  to  the 

west, 
To  get  our  recruits  at  Mauritius,  and  give  the  crew  a 

rest. 
Five  days  we  ran  in  the  trade-winds ;  and  the  boys  were 

beginning  to  talk 

Of  their  time  ashore,  and  whether  they'd  have  a  donkey- 
ride,  or  a  walk, 
And  whether  they'd  spend  their  money  in  wine,  bananas, 

or  pearls, 
Or  drive  to  the  sugar-plantations  to  dance  with  the  Creole 

girls. 


582  THE  AMBER-WHALE. 

But  they  soon  got  something  to  talk  about.     Five  days 

we  ran  west-sou'-west ; 
But  the  sixth  day's  log-book  entry  was  a  change  from  all 

the  rest, 
For  that  was  the  day  the  masthead  men  made  every  face 

turn  pale, 
With  the  cry  that  we  all  had  dreamt  about,  — '  HE  BLOWS  ! 

THE   AMBER-WHALE  !  ' 

And  every  man   was   motionless ;   and   every   speaker's 

lip 
Just  stopped  as  it  was,  with  the  word  half  said.     There 

wasn't  a  sound  in  the  ship 
Till  the  captain  hailed  the  masthead,  '  Where  away  is  the 

whale  you  see  ? ' 
And  the  cry  came  down  again,  '  He  blows  !  about  four 

points  on  our  lee, 
And  three  miles  off,  sir,  —  there  he  blows  !  he's  going  to 

leeward  fast ! ' 
And  then  we  sprang  to  the  rigging,  and  saw  the  great 

whale  at  last. 

"  Ah,  shipmates  !  that  was  a  sight  to  see.     The  water  was 

smooth  as  a  lake  ; 
And  there  was  the  monster  rolling,  with  a  school  of  whales 

in  his  wake. 
They  looked  like  pilot-fish  round  a  shark,  as  if  they  were 

keeping  guard ; 
And,  shipmates,  the  spout  of  that  amber-whale  was  high 

as  a  skysail-yard. 
There  was  never  a  ship's  crew  worked  so  quick  as  our 

whalemen  worked  that  day, 
When  the  captain   shouted,  'Swing   the   boats,  and   be 

ready  to  lower  away  ! ' 


THE  AMBER-WHALE.  583 

Then, ( A  pull  on  the  weather-braces,  men  !    Let  her  head 

fall  off  three  points  ! ' 
And  off  she  swung  with  a  quarter-breeze  straining  the  old 

ship's  joints. 
The  men  came  down  from  the  mastheads,  and  the  boats' 

crews  stood  on  the  rail, 
Stowing  the   lines   and   irons,   and   fixing  paddles   and 

sail. 
And,  when  all  was  ready,  we  leant  on  the  boats,  and 

looked  at  the  amber's  spout, 
That  went  up  like  a  monster  fountain  with  a  sort  of  a 

rumbling  shout, 
Like    a    thousand    railroad-engines    puffing    away   their 

smoke. 

He  was  just  like  a  frigate's  hull  capsized,  and  the  sway- 
ing water  broke 
Against  the  sides  of  the  great  stiff  whale.    He  was  steering 

south  by  west, 
For  the  Cape,  no  doubt ;  for  a  whale  can  shape  a  course 

as  well  as  the  best. 
We  soon  got  close  as  was  right  to  go ;  for  the  school 

might  hear  a  hail, 
Or  see  the  bark,  and  that  was  the  last  of  our  Bank-of- 

England  whale. 
'  Let  her  luff,'  said  the  old  man  gently.     '  Now,  lower 

away,  my  boys, 
And  pull  for  a  mile,  then  paddle  —  and  mind  that  you 

make  no  noise.' 

"  A  minute  more,  and  the  boats  were  down ;  and  out 

from  the  hull  of  the  bark 
They  shot  with  a  nervous  sweep  of  the  oars,  like  dolphins 

away  from  a  shark. 


584  THE  AMBER-WHALE. 

Each  officer  stood  in  the  stern,  and  watched,  as  he  held 

the  steering  oar ; 
And  the  crews  bent  down  to  their  pulling  as  they  never 

pulled  before. 

"  Our  mate  was  as  thorough  a  whaleman  as  I  ever  met 

afloat ; 
And  I  was  his  harpooner  that  day,  and  sat  in  the  bow  of 

the  boat. 
His  eyes  were  set  on  the  whales  ahead,  and  he  spoke  in 

a  low,  deep  tone, 
And  told  the  men  to  be  steady  and  cool,  and  the  whale 

was  all  our  own. 
And  steady  and  cool  they  proved  to  be  :  you  could  read 

it  in  every  face, 
And  in  every  straining  muscle,  that  they  meant  to  win 

that  race. 
1  Bend  to  it,  boys,  for   a   few  strokes  more :  bend  to  it 

steady  and  long ! 
Now,  in  with  your  oars,  and  paddles  out  —  all  together, 

and  strong  ! ' 
Then  we  turned,  and  sat  on  the  gunwale,  with  our  faces 

to  the  bow ; 
And  the  whales  were  right  ahead,  no  more  than  four 

ships'  length  off  now. 
There  were  five  of  'em,  hundred-barrellers,  like  guards 

round  the  amber-whale ; 

And  to  strike  him  we'd  have  to  risk  being  stove  by  cross- 
ing a  sweeping  tail ; 

But  the  prize  and  the  risk  were  equal.     '  Mat,'  now  whis- 
pers the  mate, 
1  Are  your  irons  ready? '  — '  Ay,  ay,  sir  ! '  —  '  Stand   up, 

then,  steady,  and  wait 


THE  AMBER-WHALE.  585 

Till  I  give  the  word,  then  let  'em  fly,  and  hit  him  below 

the  fin 
As  he  rolls  to  wind'ard.     Start  her,  boys  !    Now's  the  time 

to  slide  her  in  ! 
Hurrah  !  that  fluke  just  missed  us.     Mind,  as  soon  as 

the  iron's  fast, 
Be  ready  to  back  your  paddles.     Now  in  for  it,  boys,  at 

last! 
Heave  !     Again  ! ' 

"  And  two  irons  flew :  the  first  one  sank  in  the  joint, 
Tween   the    head  and  hump,  in  the    muscle;   but  the 

second  had  its  point 
Turned  off  by  striking  the  amber  case,  coming  out  again 

like  a  bow ; 
And  the  monster  carcass  quivered,  and  rolled  with  pain 

from  the  first  deep  blow. 
Then   he  lashed  the    sea  with  his   terrible   flukes,    and 

showed  us  many  a  sign 
That  his  rage  was  roused.     'Layoff!'  roared  the  mate, 

'  and  all  keep  clear  of  the  line  ! ' 
And  that  was  a  timely  warning,  for  the  whale  made  an 

awful  breach 
Right  out  of  the  sea ;  and  'twas  well  for  us  that  the  boat 

was  beyond  the  reach 
Of  his  sweeping  flukes,  as  he   milled  around,  and   made 

for  the  captain's  boat, 
That  was  right  astern.     And,  shipmates,  then  my  heart 

swelled  up  in  my  throat 
At  the  sight  I  saw.    The  amber-whale  was  lashing  the  sea 

with  rage, 
And  two  of  his  hundred-barrel  guards  were  ready  now  to 

engage 


586  THE  AMBER-WHALE. 

In  a  bloody  fight ;  and  with  open  jaws  they  came  to  their 

master's  aid. 
Then  we  knew  the  captain's  boat  was  doomed.     But  the 

crew  were  no  whit  afraid  : 
They  were  brave  New-England  whalemen.     And  we  saw 

the  harpoon er 
Stand  up  to  send  in  his  irons  as  soon  as  the  whales  came 

near. 
Then  we  heard  the  captain's  order,  '  Heave  ! '  and  saw 

the  harpoon  fly, 
As  the  whales  closed  in  with  their  open  jaws :  a  shock, 

and  a  stifled  cry, 
Was  all  that  we  heard ;  then  we  looked  to  see  if  the  crew 

were  still  afloat  ; 
But  nothing  was  there  save  a  dull  red  patch,  and  the 

boards  of  the  shattered  boat. 

"  But  that  was  no  time  for  mourning  words.     The  other 

two  boats  came  in, 

And  one  got  fast  on  the  quarter,  and  one  aft  the  star- 
board fin 
Of  the  amber-whale.     For  a  minute  he  paused,  as  if  he 

were  in  doubt 
As  to  whether  'twas  best  to  run  or  fight.     '  Lay  on  ! '  the 

mate  roared  out, 
'  And  I'll  give  him  a  lance  ! '     The  boat  shot  in  ;  and  the 

mate,  when  he  saw  his  chance 
Of  sending  it  home  to  the  vitals,  four  times  he  buried  his 

lance. 
A  minute  more,  and  a  cheer  went  up,  when  we   saw  that 

his  aim  was  good  ; 
For  the  lance  had  struck  in  a  life-spot,  and  the  whale  was 

spouting  blood. 


THE  AMBER-WHALE.  587 

But  now  came  the  time  of  danger,  for  the  school  of 

whales  around 
Had  aired  their  flukes ;  and  the  cry  was  raised,  '  Look 

out !  they're  going  to  sound  ! ' 

And  down  they  went  with  a  sudden  plunge,  the  amber- 
whale  the  last, 
While  the  lines  ran  smoking  out  of  the  tubs,  he  went  to 

the  deep  so  fast. 
Before  you  could  count  your  fingers,  a  hundred  fathoms 

were  out ; 
And  then  he  stopped,  for  a  wounded  whale  must  come  to 

the  top  and  spout. 
We  hauled  slack  line  as  we  felt  him  rise ;  and  when  he 

came  up  alone, 
And  spouted  thick  blood,  we  cheered  again,  for  we  knew 

he  was  all  our  own. 
He  was  frightened  now,  and  his  fight  was  gone :  right 

round  and  round  he  spun, 
As  if  he  was  trying  to  sight  the  boats,  or  find  the  best  side 

to  run. 
But  that  was  the  minute  for  us  to  work  :  the  boats  hauled 

in  their  slack, 
And  bent  on  the  drag-tubs  over  the  stern  to  tire  and  hold 

him  back. 
The  bark  was  five  miles  to  wind'ard,  and  the  mate  gave 

a  troubled  glance 
At  the  sinking  sun,  and  muttered,  '  Boys,  we  must  give 

him  another  lance, 

Or  he'll  run  till  night ;  and,  if  he  should  head  to  wind- 
'ard in  the  dark, 
We'll  be  forced  to  cut  loose,  and  leave  him,  or  else  lose 

run  of  the  bark.' 


588  THE  AMBER-WHALE. 

So  we  hauled  in  close,  two  boats  at  once,  but  only  fright- 
ened the  whale ; 
And,  like  a  hound  that  was  badly  whipped,  he  turned, 

and  showed  his  tail, 
With  his  head  right  dead  to  wind'ard ;  then  as  straight 

and  as  swift  he  sped, 
As  a  hungry  shark  for  a  swimming  prey,  and,  bending 

over  his  head, 

Like  a  mighty  plume  went  his  bloody  spout.     Ah,  ship- 
mates !  that  was  a  sight 
Worth  a  life  at  sea  to  witness.     In  his  wake  the  sea  was 

white, 
As  you've  seen  it  after  a  steamer's  screw,  churning  up  like 

foaming  yeast ; 
And  the  boats  went  hissing  along  at  the  rate  of  twenty 

knots  at  least, 
With  the  water  flush  with  the  gunwale ;  and  the  oars  were 

all  apeak, 
While  the  crews  sat  silent  and  quiet,  watching  the  long 

white  streak 
That  was  traced  by  the  line  of  our  passage.     We  hailed 

the  bark  as  we  passed, 
And  told  them  to  keep  a  sharp  lookout  from  the  head  of 

every  mast ; 
'And  if  we're  not  back  by  sundown,'  cried  the  mate, 

'  you  keep  a  light 
At  the  royal  cross-trees.     If  he  dies,  we  may  stick  to  the 

whale  all  night.' 

"  And  past  we  swept  with  our  oars  apeak,  and  waved  our 

hands  to  the  hail 
Of  the  wondering  men  on  the  taffrail,  who  were  watching 

our  amber-whale 


THE  AMBER-WHALE.  589 

As  he  surged  ahead,  just  as  if  he  thought  he  could  tire  his 

enemies  out. 
I  was  almost  sorrowful,  shipmates,  to  see,  after  each  red 

spout, 
That  the  great  whale's  strength  was  failing :  the  sweep  of 

his  flukes  grew  slow, 
Till  at  sundown  he  made  about  four  knots,  and  his  spout 

was  weak  and  low. 
Then  said  the  mate  to  his  boat's  crew,  '  Boys,  the  vessel 

is  out  of  sight 
To  the  leeward  :  now,  shall  we  cut  the  line,  or  stick  to 

the  whale  all  night  ?  ' 
'  We'll  stick  to  the  whale  ! '  cried  every  man.     '  Let  the 

other  boats  go  back 
To  the  vessel,  and  beat  to  wind'ard,  as  well  as  they  can, 

in  our  track.' 
It  was  done  as  they  said :  the  lines  were  cut,  and  the 

crews  cried  out,  '  Good  speed  ! ' 
As  we  swept  along  in  the  darkness,  in  the  wake  of  our 

monster  steed, 
That  went  plunging  on,  with  the  dogged  hope  that  he'd 

tire  his  enemies  still  — 
But  even  the  strength  of  an  amber-whale  must  break 

before  human  will. 
By  little  and  little  his  power  had  failed  as  he  spouted  his 

blood  away, 
Till  at  midnight  the  rising  moon  shone  down  on  the  great 

fish  as  he  lay 
Just  moving  his  flukes ;  but  at  length  he  stopped,  and 

raising  his  square,  black  head 
As  high  as  the  topmast  cross-trees,  swung  round,  and  fell 

over,  dead. 


590  THE  AMBER-WHALE. 

"And  then   rose  a  shout  of  triumph,  a  shout  that  was 

more  like  a  curse 
Than  an  honest  cheer;  but,  shipmates,  the  thought  in 

our  hearts  was  worse, 
And  'twas  punished  with  bitter  suffering.     We  claimed 

the  whale  as  our  own, 
And  said  that  the  crew  should  have  no  share  of  the  wealth 

that  was  ours  alone. 
We  said  to  each  other,  '  We  want  their  help  till  we  get 

the  whale  aboard  : 
So  we'll  let  'em  think  that  they'll  have  a  share  till  we  get 

the  amber  stored, 
And  then  we'll  pay  them  their  wages,  and  send  them 

ashore,  or  afloat 
If  they  show  their  temper'     Ah,  shipmates  !  no  wonder 

'twas,  that  boat 
And  its  selfish  crew  were  cursed  that  night.     Next  day  we 

saw  no  sail ; 
But  the  wind  and  sea  were  rising.     Still  we  held  to  the 

drifting  whale, 
(And  a  dead  whale  drifts  to  windward),  going  farther 

away  from  the  ship, 
Without  water,  or  bread,  or  courage  to  pray  with  heart  or 

lip 
That  had  planned  and  spoken  the  treachery.     The  wind 

blew  into  a  gale, 
And  it  screamed  like  mocking  laughter  round  our  boat 

and  the  amber-whale. 

"  That  night  fell  dark  on  the  starving  crew,  and  a  hurri- 
cane blew  next  day ; 

Then  we  cut  the  line,  and  we  cursed  the  prize  as  it  drifted 
fast  away, 


THE  AMBER-WHALE.  591 

As  if  some  power  under  the  waves  were  towing  it  out  of 

sight ; 
And  there  we  were,  without  help  or  hope,  dreading  the 

coming  night. 
Three  days  that  hurricane  lasted.     When  it  passed,  two 

men  were  dead ; 
And  the  strongest  one  of  the  living  had  not  strength  to 

raise  his  head, 
When  his  dreaming  swoon  was  broken  by  the  sound  of  a 

cheery  hail, 
And  he  saw  a  shadow  fall  on  the  boat :  it  fell  from  the  old 

bark's  sail ! 
And  when  he  heard  their  kindly  words,  you'd  think  he 

should  have  smiled 
With  joy  at  his  deliverance;  but  he  cried  like  a  little 

child, 
And  hid  his  face  in  his  poor  weak  hands,  for  he  thought 

of  the  selfish  plan, 

And  he  prayed  to  God  to  forgive  them  all.     And,  ship- 
mates, I  am  the  man,  — 
The  only  one  of  the  sinful  crew  that  ever  beheld  his 

home ; 
For,  before  the  cruise  was  over,  all  the  rest  were  under  the 

foam. 
It's  just  fifteen  years  gone,  shipmates,"  said  old  Mat, 

ending  his  tale ; 

"And  I  often  pray  that  I'll  never  see  another  amber- 
whale." 

JOHN  BOYLE  O'REILLY. 


592  IMPATIENCE. 

IMPATIENCE. 

I  SEE  the  ships  go  sailing,  sailing, 
(My  feet  are  fettered  to  the  shore,) 
Their  prows  with  many  a  voyage  are  hoar. 
See  !  on  the  far  horizon  paling, 
They  sink,  and  are  no  more. 

I  see  the  birds  go  flying,  flying ; 
In  swaying  line,  and  whirling  ring, 
'Twixt  blue  and  blue,  their  way  they  wing : 
But  the  swift  flocks  through  ether  plying 
To  me  no  message  bring. 

I  see  the  Moon  go  riding,  riding, 
Through  heavenly  paths,  on  golden  wheels. 
Her  passing  kiss  the  Ocean  feels, 
But,  in  his  bosom  swiftly  hiding 
His  joy,  no  word  reveals. 

O  golden  moon,  and  snowy  pinions 
Of  birds  that  fly,  and  ships  that  mate 
Their  speed  with  birds,  in  royal  state 
Sweep  proudly  through  your  wide  dominions  ! 
And  I  —  I  only  wait. 

"  OWEN  INNSLY.' 


TO    THE    OCEAN. 

SHALL  I  rebuke  thee,  Ocean,  my  old  love, 
That  once,  in  rage  with  the  wild  winds  at  strife, 
Thou  darest  menace  my  unit  of  a  life, 
Sending  my  clay  below,  my  soul  above, 


TO    THE   OCEAN. 


593 


Whilst  roared  thy  waves  like  lions  where  they  rove 
By  night,  and  bound  upon  their  prey  by  stealth  ?  * 
Yet  didst  thou  ne'er  restore  my  fainting  health  ? 
Didst  thou  ne'er  murmur  gently  like  the  dove  ? 
Nay,  didst  thou  not  against  my  own  dear  shore 
Full  break,  last  link  between  my  land  and  me  ? 
My  absent  friends  talk  in  thy  very  roar ; 
In  thy  waves'  beat  their  kindly  pulse  I  see ; 
And,  if  I  must  not  see  my  England  more, 
Next  to  her  soil,  my  grave  be  found  in  thee  ! 

THOMAS  HOOD. 


INDEX    OF    AUTHORS. 


A. 

ALDRICH,  THOMAS  BAILEY.  PAGE. 

Sea-Drift 421 

The  Lady  of  Castelnore 353 

ALLEN,  ELIZABETH  AKERS  [Florence  Percy}. 

Restlessness 450 

The  Silver  Bridge 448 

ALLINGHAM,  WILLIAM. 

The  Pilot-Boat 166 

The  Sailor 15 

ANDREWS,  WILLIAM  P. 

Homeward 130 

ANONYMOUS. 

A  Ballad  of  Nantucket 162 

Babette 324 

Boatman's  Hymn  [  Translated  by  Ferguson] 563 

By  the  Sea 43I 

Deep-Sea  Soundings 135 

God  Bless  the  Ships 29 

Missing  \Tinsl ey's  Magazine] 390 

Song 264 

Song  [  Translation  A  nonymous  ;  North  A  merican  Re-view]    .     .     .  422 

Summer  Longings 268 

The  Boatie  Rows 284 

The  Enchanted  Island 36 

The  Leak  in  the  Dike 49 

The  Little  Seaman  [Translation  Anonymous;  Foreign  Quarterly 

Review] 45 

The  Relic  on  the  Rocks  [All  the  Year  Round] .  395 

595 


596  INDEX   OF  AUTHORS. 

ANONYMOUS,  —  continued.  PAGE. 

The  Story  of  a  Stowaway  [Punc/i] 514 

The  Temple 184 

Voices  of  the  Sea 382 

Waves  [The  Dial] 135 

ARNOLD,  GEORGE. 

From  "Drift" 322 

Jubilate 44 

ARNOLD,  MATTHEW. 

Dover  Beach 479 

The  Forsaken  Merman 338 

B. 

BARTON,  BERNARD. 

First  Sight  of  the  Sea 439 

BATES,  KATHARINE  LEE. 

Out  of  Sight  of  Land 82 

BEDDOES,  THOMAS  LOVELL. 

To  Sea 246 

BENNETT,  WILLIAM  C. 

Over  the  Sea 280 

BONAR,  HORATIUS. 

No  more  Sea 140 

BOURDILLON,  F.  W. 

'Tis  Love's  to  Love  the  Sea 401 

BOWEN,  HERBERT  W. 

A  Tear 400 

BOWLES,  WILLIAM  LISLE. 

At  Dover  Cliffs 215 

BOWRING,  EDGAR  ALFRED. 

Calm  at  Sea 164 

Song 140 

The  Fisherman 333 

BOYESEN,    HjALMAR   HjORTH. 

The  Sea 547 

BRADLEY,  MARY  E. 

A  Wind  from  the  Sea 356 

Song 259 

BRAINARD,  JOHN  GARDINER  CAULKINS. 

The  Deep 144 

The  Sea-Bird's  Song 241 

BRIGGS,  WILLIAM  M. 

The  Haunted  Glen 542 

BROOKS,  CHARLES  T. 

To  the  Sea 530 

BROWNELL,  HENRY  HOWARD. 

Alone     .          425 

At  Sea 175 


INDEX   OF  AUTHORS.  597 

BROWNING,  ELIZABETH  BARRETT.  PAGE. 

A  Sabbath  Morning  at  Sea 503 

BROWNING,  ROBERT. 

From  "  Paracelsus " -t 

Meeting  at  Night !62 

Parting  at  Morning 343 

BRYANT,  WILLIAM  CULLEN. 

A  Hymn  of  the  Sea Xg4 

A  Song  of  Pitcairn's  Island 4ig 

Sonnet 433 

The  Tides I46 

BUCHANAN,  ROBERT. 

Faces  on  the  Wall 444 

The  Water  Wraith .    .    .    .  13 

BURNS,  JAMES  DRUMMOND. 

By  the  Seaside ,6j 

BYRON,  GEORGE  GORDON  NOEL. 

From  "  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage  " 49i 

From  "  Don  Juan " 523 

c. 

CAMPBELL,  THOMAS. 

Ye  Mariners  of  England 287 

GARY,  ALICE. 

A  Sea-Song 285 

The  Fire  by  the  Sea I38 

The  Might  of  Love i58 

GARY,  PHCEBE. 

Ebb-Tide 35I 

CHENEDOLLE,  CHARLES  DE. 

Ode  to  the  Sea  [Translation  Anonymous] 512 

CLARK,  SIMEON  TUCKER. 

Why  the  Sea  Complains 245 

CLARKE,  JAMES  FREEMAN. 

White-capped  Waves i2I 

CLEMMER,  MARY. 

By  the  Sea 336 

CLOUGH,  ARTHUR  HUGH. 

Becalmed  at  Sea  [Qua  Cursum  Ventus\ 98 

Farewell 294 

Song  ••••••••••••.....  444 

COFFIN,  ROBERT  BARRY  [Barry  Gray\. 

Ships  at  Sea 446 

COLERIDGE,  SAMUEL  TAYLOR. 

The  Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner 57 

COLLIER,  THOMAS  STEPHENS. 

A  Departing  Ship 295 


At  Sea 


293 


598  INDEX   OF  AUTHORS. 

COLLIER,  THOMAS  STEPHENS,  —  continued,  PAGE. 

From  "The  Sea" 225 

On  the  Shore 445 

Storm-Waves 286 

The  Helmsman 125 

The  Old  Commodore 289 

COOKE,  HELEN  M. 

Sea-Music 376 

CORNWALL,  BARRY  [Bryan  Waller  Procter}. 

Address  to  the  Ocean 520 

The  Sea 274 

COWPER,  WILLIAM. 

The  Castaway 191 

CRABBE,  GBORGE. 

The  Various  Aspects  of  the  Sea 286 

CUNNINGHAM,  ALLAN. 

A  Wet  Sheet  and  a  Flowing  Sea 260 

CURTIS,  GEORGE  WILLIAM. 

Ebb  and  Flow 322 

Music  in  the  Air 296 

337 


D. 

BALL*  ONGARO,  FRANCESCO. 

The  Ring  of  the  Last  Doge  [Translated  by  HoweUs] 169 

DANA,  RICHARD  HENRY. 

Thou  Little  Beach-Bird 243 

DAVIES,  JOHN. 

The  Sea 310 

DEFOREST,  J.  W. 

The  Sea-Maiden 131 

DIBDIN,  CHARLES. 

Poor  Jack 248 

The  Standing  Toast 275 

The  Tar  for  all  Weathers 102 

DICKENS,  CHARLES. 

The  Song  of  the  Wreck 206 

DOBELL,  SIDNEY. 

How's  my  Boy  ? 16 

DODGE,  MARY  MAPES. 

The  Child  and  the  Sea 87 

DORR,  JULIA  CAROLINE  RIPLEY. 

Easter  Morning 416 

"  God  Knows  " 233 

Hilda,  Spinning 347 

DOUBLEDAY,  THOMAS. 

The  Sea-Cave 443 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS.  599 

DOUDNEY,  SARAH.  PAGE. 

The  Fisherman's  Widow 383 

DRAKE,  JOSEPH  RODMAN. 

From  "  Culprit  Fay  " 518 

DUFFIELD,  SAMUEL  WILLOUGHBV. 

At  the  Harbor-Mouth 23 

Jetsam.     Introductory  Poem xi 

Land-locked 408 

Lars'  Song 74 

On  the  Strand 183 

Tendimus  in  Latium - 169 

Vineta 473 

DULCKEN,  H.  W. 

The  Sea-Captain's  Farewell  to  his  Child 216 

E. 

"  ELIOT,  GEORGE  "  [Marian  Evans  Cross], 

From  "  The  Spanish  Gypsy  " 491 

EMERSON,  RALPH  WALDO. 

From  "  Each  and  All" 352 

Seashore 356 

"  EMERSON,  RUTH  "  [Sarah  Foster  Davis], 

Idling 534 

To  a  Fossil  Shell 181 

EVALD,  JOHANNES. 

Song 234 

F. 

FALCONER,  ROBERT. 

From  "  The  Shipwreck  " 475 

FARNINGHAM,  MARIANNE. 

"  God  knows  " 189 

FERGUSON,  SIR  SAMUEL. 

Boatman's  Hymn 563 

The  Forging  of  the  Anchor 427 

FIELDS,  JAMES  THOMAS. 

Morning  and  Evening  by  the  Sea 443 

On  a  Book  of  Sea-Mosses 376 

GARVIE,  THOMAS. 

Drowned 219 

GAY,  JOHN. 

Sweet  William's  Farewell  to  Black-eyed  Susan 266 

GEIBEL,  EMMANUEL. 

Wellen-Geheimness  [Translation  Anonymous] 563 

GERMAN,  FROM  THE. 

The  Sea  [Translated  by  Pike] 280 


6 00  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 

GILDER,  RICHARD  WATSON.  PAGE. 

A  Barren  Stretch  that  slants  to  the  Salt  Sea's  Gray 337 

Listening  to  Music 98 

The  New  Day 23 

"  GLYNDON,  HOWARD"  [Laura  C.  /?.  Searing}. 

Drifting  Apart 393 

The  Fishers  go  down  to  Sea 122 

GOETHE,  JOHANN  WOLFGANG  VON. 

Calm  at  Sea  [Translated by  Bowring\ 164 

The  Fisherman  f  Translated  by  Bowring\ 333 

GREEN,  ANNA  KATHARINE. 

Pearls 400 

GREENE,  ROBERT. 

From  "  A  Looking-Glass  for  London  and  England" 224 

H. 

HAMILTON,  EUGENE  LEE. 

Sonnet.  Sea-Shell  Murmurs 360 

HARTE,  FRANCIS  BRET. 

A  Greyport  Legend 350 

Grandmother  Tenterden 186 

The  Two  Ships 244 

To  a  Sea-Bird ' 77 

HAYDEN,  HENRY  C. 

Four  Songs  to  the  Sea 276 

HAYNE,  PAUL  H. 

In  Harbor 457 

HEINE,  HEINRICH. 

Song  [  Translated  by  Boivring] 140 

HEMANS,  FELICIA. 

The  Treasures  of  the  Deep 568 

HERVARAR  SAGA,  FROM  THE. 

Song  of  the  Berserks 193 

HEY,  WII.HELM. 

God  at  Sea  [Translated  by  Piatt} 168 

HOARE,  PRINCE. 

The "  Arethusa" 477 

HOLMES,  OLIVER  WENDELL. 

The  Chambered  Nautilus 270 

The  Steamboat 252 

HOOD,  THOMAS. 

The  Boy  at  the  Nore 95 

To  the  Ocean 592 

HOUGHTON,  GEORGE. 

Evening 238 

HOWELLS,  WILLIAM  DEAN. 

The  Ring  of  the  Last  Doge 169 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS.  60 1 

HUNT,  LEIGH.  PAGE. 

A  Tune  on  the  Water 254 

Leander  Swimming 535 

HUTCHINSON,  ELLEN  MACKAY. 

A  Cry  from  the  Shore 247 

I. 

INGELOW,  JEAN. 

From  "  Brothers  and  a  Sermon  " 75 

From  "  Supper  at  the  Mill " 413 

Sailing  beyond  Seas 251 

Sea-Mews  in  Winter  Time 402 

The  High  Tide  on  the  Coast  of  Lincolnshire 433 

The  Long  White  Seam 271 

The  Mariner's  Cave 362 

The  Morning  Watch 471 

Winstanley 64 

"  INNSLY,  OWEN"  [Lucy  White  jfenntson]. 

Impatience 592 

JOHNS,'  J.  J. 

A  Stowaway 448 

JOHNSON,  ROSSITER. 

My  Ship 54 

On  the  Cliff 320 

K. 

KALBECK. 

Homeward  [  Translated  by  A  ndrews\ 130 

KEATS,  JOHN. 

On  the  Sea 214 

KIMBALL,  HARRIET  McEwEN. 

Sonnets 118 

KINGSLEY,  CHARLES. 

Song ,    .  48 

Song  from  "  The  Water  Babies  " 476 

The  Night-Bird 265 

The  Sands  o'  Dee 62 

The  Three  Fishers 79 

The  Tide-Rock 321 

L. 

LARCOM,  LUCY. 

Hannah  Binding  Shoes 373 

Skipper  Ben 328 


602  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 

LATHROP,  GEORGE  PARSONS.                                                                         PAGE. 
Sailor's  Song 123 

LEAR,  EDWARD. 

Thejumblies 84 

LELAND,  CHARLES  GODFREY. 

Mountain  and  Sea 262 

The  Language  of  the  Sea 240 

LINLEY,  GEORGE. 

Though  Lost  to  Sight,  to  Memory  Dear 242 

LOBO,  FRAN-CISCO  RODRIGUEZ. 

Sonnet 215 

LOCKHART'S  SPANISH  BALLADS. 

Count  Arnaldos 4 

The  Song  of  the  Galley 164 

LONGFELLOW,  HENRY  WADSWORTH. 

A  Summer  Day  by  the  Sea 411 

Chrysaor 3 

The  Lighthouse 116 

The  Tides 442 

LOVER,  SAMTEL. 

From  "  Handy  Andy  " 258 

LOWELL,  JAMES  RUSSELL. 

The  Sirens •.     313 

LVTTON,  EDWARD  BULWER,  LORD. 

The  Beacon 104 

M. 

MACAULAY,  THOMAS  BABINGTON. 

The  Armada 570 

The  Last  Buccaneer 201 

MACDONALD,  GEORGE. 

A  Song  of  the  Sea 240 

Legend  of  the  Corrievrechan 18 

The  Dead  Hand 327 

The  Earl  o' Quarterdeck in 

The  Sea-Shell 257 

The  Waters  are  Rising  and  Flowing 244 

MACKAY,  CHARLES. 

The  Sailor's  Wife 281 

MALLOCH,  W.  H. 

Night  Song 129 

MANGAN,  JAMES  CLARENCE. 

The  Mariner's  Bride 239 

MCANDREW,  MRS.  B. 

The  Song  of  the  Sea 318 

"  MEREDITH,  OWEN  "  [Lord  Robert  Bulwer-Lytton\. 

From  "  Clytemnestra  " 101 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS.  603 

"  MEREDITH,  OWEN,"  —  continued.  PAGE. 

From  "  Lucile  " 323 

The  Mermaiden 276 

The  Shore 440 

To 102 

MICKLE,  WILLIAM  JULIUS. 

The  Sailor's  Wife 311 

MILLER,  "  JOAQUIN  "  \Cincinnatus  Hiner  Miller\. 

My  Ship  Comes  in 91 

Unloved  and  Alone 14 

MITCHEL,  WALTER.    • 

Tacking  Ship  off  Shore 24 

MONTGOMERY,  JAMES. 

The  Ocean 536 

MOORE,  THOMAS. 

A  Reflection  at  Sea 500 

Come  o'er  the  Sea 167 

From  "  Lalla  Rookh  " 263 

Oh,  had  we  some  Bright  Little  Isle  of  our  Own 81 

Song 398 

The  Meeting  of  the  Ships 194 

MOTHERWELL,  WlLLIAM. 

The  Master  of  Weemys 91 

MOULTON,  LOUISE  CHANDLER. 

Alone  by  the  Bay 415 

A  Quest 145 

MiJLLER,  WlLHELM. 

Vineta  [Translated by  Duffiel<f\ 473 

MULOCK,  DINAH  MARIA  [Mrs.  Craik\. 

A  Dream  of  Death 63 

For  Music 398 

In  Swanage  Bay 202 

On  the  Seashore 388 

Sitting  on  the  Shore 399 

The  Fisher-Maid 334 

MYERS,  FREDERIC  W.  H. 

Wind,  Moon,  and  Tides 425 

N. 

NEW,  HERBERT. 

Voices  of  the  Sea 153 

o. 

O'CONNOR,  JOSEPH. 

If  the  Wind  Rise 453 

OLD  ENGLISH  BALLAD. 

The  Demon  Lover 26 


604  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 

OLD  SCOTTISH  BALLAD.  PAGE. 

Sir  Patrick  Spens 496 

O'REILLY,  JOHN  BOYLE. 

Prelude  to  "The  Amber- Whale" 218 

The  Amber-Whale 578 

The  Fishermen  of  Wexford 153 

The  Flying  Dutchman 297 

The  Last  of  the  "  Narwhale  " 556 

OSBORN,  ALICE  C. 

A  Sea-View 451 


P. 

PARDOE,  JULIA. 

The  Beacon-Light 157 

PEARCE,  WILLIAM. 

Heaving  the  Lead 90 

PELTON,  MARION  L. 

After  the  Storm 308 

PERCIVAL,  JAMES  GATES. 

The  Coral-Grove 178 

"PERCY,  FLORENCE"  [Elizabeth  Akers  Allen]. 

My  Ship 383 

PHELPS,  ELIZABETH  STUART. 

Rafe's  Chasm,  Cape  Ann 452 

Saturday  Night  in  the  Harbor 426 

What  the  Sea  says  to  the  Shore 345 

What  the  Shore  says  to  the  Sea 344 

PIATT,  JOHN  JAMES. 

God  at  Sea 168 

PIKE,  M.  C. 

The  Sea 280 

PITT,  WILLIAM. 

The  Sailor's  Consolation 185 

POE,  EDGAR  ALLAN. 

Annabel  Lee 120 

The  City  in  the  Sea 521 

POLLARD,  JOSEPHINE. 

The  Singers  of  the  Sea 182 

POLLOCK,  EDWARD. 

Olivia 235 

POLLOK,  ROBERT. 

The  Ocean 576 

PRESTON,  MARGARET  JUNKIN. 

Alcyone" 482 

The  Lady  Riberta's  Harvest 40 

PROCTER,  ADELAIDE  ANNE. 

The  Storm 279 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS.  605 

PROCTER,  BRYAN  WALLER  ["  Barry  Cornwall"}.  PAGE. 

Address  to  the  Ocean 520 

Is  my  Lover  on  the  Sea? 355 

The  Sea 532 

The  Sea,  in  Calm '.'.'.    165 


R. 

REDI,  FRANCESCA. 

A  Tune  on  the  Waters  [Translated  by  Hunt} 254 

REILEY,  MARY  T. 

Melusina • 286 

RICH,  HIRAM. 

In  the  Sea 222 

ROSSETTI,  CHRISTINA  GEORGIANA. 

By  the  Sea 38g 

Sleep  at  Sea 277 

ROSSETTI,  DANTE  GABRIEL. 


The  Sea-Limits 


361 


RUCKERT,  FRIEDRICH. 

A  Tear  [  Translated  by  Bowen] 400 

RUSKIN,  JOHN. 

The  Old  Seaman 255 

s. 

SANDARS,  EDMUND. 

The  Sea I75 

SANGSTER,  MARGARET  E. 

A  Day  by  the  Sea 1IO 

Wild  Weather  Outside 142 

SARGENT,  EPES. 

A  Life  on  the  Ocean-Wave 454. 

A  Summer  Noon  at  Sea 502 

SCHIT.LER,  JOHANN   CHRISTOPH    FRIEDRICH  VON. 

The  Diver 3o 

SCOTT,  CLEMENT  W. 

The  Holy  Light 55 

SCOTT,  SIR  WALTER. 

Song  of  the  Mermaids  and  Mermen 414 

The  Maid  of  Isla 326 

SEMEDO,  BELCHIOR  MANGEL  CURVO. 

Sonnet  [  Translated  by  Bryant} 433 

SHAKSPEARE,  WILLIAM. 

From  "  King  Richard  III." 404 

Song ' 2?8 

SHARP,  WILLIAM. 

Shells  on  the  Seashore 338 


606  IXDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 


SHELLEY,  PERCY  BYSSHE.  PAGE. 

A  Vision  of  the  Sea 506 

From  "  Prometheus  Unbound  " 506 

Stanzas  written  in  Dejection,  near  Naples 392 

SILL,  EDWARD  ROWLAND. 

A  Tropical  Morning  at  Sea 291 

SMITH,  ALEXANDER. 

From  "  A  Life  Drama  " 335 

SMITH,  ELIZABETH  OAKES. 

Jack  Humphrey's  Oath 8 

The  Drowned  Mariner 148 

The  Fisher's  Wedding 261 

SOUTH EY,  CAROLINE. 

Mariner's  Hymn 480 

SOUTHEY,  ROBERT. 

Funeral  at  Sea 487 

Henry  the  Hermit 455 

Sonnet 449 

The  Inchcape  Rock 37 

SPANISH,  FROM  THE. 

The  Mariner's  Bride  [Translated  by  Mangaii\ 239 

SPENSER,  EDMUND. 

From  "  The  Faerie  Queene  " 533 

SPOFFORD,  HARRIET  PRESCOTT. 

Left  Ashore 493 

STEDMAN,  EDMUND  CLARENCE. 

Surf 307 

The  Lord's  Day  Gale 466 

STERLING,  JOHN. 

The  Sea-Maid 250 

STODDARD,  RICHARD  HENRY. 

Hymn  to  the  Sea 461 

Out  to  Sea 195 

The  Sea 269 

STOLBERG,  FRIEDERICH  LEOPOLD,  GRAF  zu. 

To  the  Sea  [Translated  by  Brooks} 53° 

STORM,  THEODORE. 

On  the  Strand  [Translated by  Duffield] 183 

SUCKLING,  SIR  JOHN. 

From  "  Love's  World  " 265 

SWIFT,  JONATHAN. 

AtHolyhead '73 

SWINBURNE,  ALGERNON  CHARLES. 

By  the  North  Sea 474 

Child's  Song  in  Winter 196 

From  "  The  Triumph  of  Time  " 173 

The  Sailing  of  the  "  Swallow  " 5<» 


INDEX  OF  AUTHORS.  607 

T. 

TAYLOR,  BAYARD.  PAGE. 

The  Waves 272 

Wind  and  Sea 80 

TAYLOR,  WILLIAM. 

Song  of  the  Berserks 193 

TENNYSON,  ALFRED. 

A  Sea-Shell 424 

Break,  Break,  Break 161 

From  "  In  Memoriam  " 170 

The  Mermaid 406 

The  Merman 404 

The  "  Revenge " 208 

The  Sailor- Boy 562 

The  Sea-Fairies 411 

The  Voice  and  the  Peak 179 

The  Voyage  of  Maeldune 548 

THACKERAY,  WILLIAM  MAKEPEACE. 

Little  Billee 99 

The  White  Squall 5 

THAXTER,  CELIA. 

Revery 88 

The  Cruise  of  the  "  Mystery  " 537 

The  Pimpernel 358 

The  Sandpiper 423 

The  Watch  of  Boon  Island 330 

With  the  Tide 21 

TJLLLEY,  W.  J. 

The  Mystic  Steersman 409 

TRENCH,  ARCHBISHOP  RICHARD  CHENEVIX. 

At  Sea ' 289 

TROWBRIDGE,  JOHN  TOWNSEND. 

At  Sea 137 

TURNER,  ALICE. 

Remembrance •  217 

TURNER,  CHARLES  [TENNYSON]. 

The  Ocean 218 

The  Seaside 200 

u. 

UHLAND,  JOHANN  LUDWIG. 

Hopes  and  Waves  [Translation  Anonymous} 401 

V. 

VAN  DUZEE,  IRA  D. 

The  Sea 151 


608  INDEX  OF  AUTHORS. 

W. 

WEATHERLY,  FREDERICK  E.  PAGE. 

Nancy  Lee 127 

Polly 128 

WEEKS,  ROBERT  K. 

By  the  Bay 223 

Calm  and  Cold 290 

Song 293 

On  the  Beach 442 

On  the  Shore 445 

WELBY,  AMELIA  B. 

Twilight  at  Sea 157 

WHITTIER,  JOHN  GREENLEAF. 

A  Sea-Dream 564 

The  Fishermen 528 

The  "Three  Bells" 78 

WILDE,  OSCAR. 

Silhouettes 387 

WILLIAMS,  ALFRED  M. 

The  Sea-Serpent 220 

WILSON,  JOHN  ["  Christopher  North"}. 

The  Shipwreck 574 

WOOLSON,  CONSTANCE  FENNIMORE. 

The  Florida  Beach 380 

WORDSWORTH,  WILLIAM. 

By  the  Seaside 374 

It  is  a  Beauteous  Evening 343 

The  Sailor's  Mother 316 


INDEX    OF    POEMS. 


A. 

PAGE. 

Address  to  the  Ocean Procter 520 

After  the  Storm .  Pelton 308 

Alcyone Preston. 482 

Alone Brownell 425 

Alone  by  the  Bay Moulton   .     .  - 415 

Annabel  Lee Poe 120 

Amber- Whale,  The O'Reilly 578 

"  Arethusa,"  The Prince  Hoare 477 

Armada,  The Macaulay 570 

At  Dover  Cliffs Bowles 215 

At  Holyhead Swift 173 

At  Sea Brownell 175 

At  Sea Collier 293 

At  Sea Trench .     .  289 

At  Sea Trowbridge 137 

At  the  Harbor-Mouth Dujfteld 23 

B. 

Barren  Stretch  that  slants  to  the  Salt  Sea's 

Gray,  A Gilder 337 

Babette Anonymous 324 

Ballad  of  Nantucket,  A Anonymous 162 

Beacon,  The Lytton 104 

Beacon-Light,  The Pardoe 157 

Becalmed  at  Sea  (Qua  Cursum  Ventus)  .  Clough 98 

609 


6 10                            INDEX  OF  PO£.}fS. 

PAGE. 

Boatie  Rows,  The Unknown 

Boatman's  Hymn Anonymous 563 

Boy  at  the  Nore,  The Hood 95 

Break,  Break,  Break Tennyson 161 

"  Brothers  and  a  Sermon,"  From  ....     Ingelow 75 

By  the  Bay Week* 223 

By  the  North  Sea Swinburne 474 

By  the  Sea Anonymous 431 

By  the  Sea Clemmer 336 

By  the  Sea C.  G.  Rossetti 389 

By  the  Seaside J.  D.  Burns 161 

By  the  Seaside Wordsworth 374 

C. 

Calm  and  Cold Weeks 290 

Calm  at  Sea Bowring 164 

Castaway,  The Copper 191 

Chambered  Nautilus,  The Holmes 270 

"  Childe  Harold's  Pilgrimage,"  From     .    .    Byron 491 

Child  and  the  Sea,  The Dodge 87 

Child's  Song  in  Winter Swinburne 196 

Chrysaor Longfellow 3 

City  in  the  Sea,  The Poe 521 

"  Crytemnestra,"  From "  Owen  Meredith "  .     .     .     .  101 

Come  o'er  the  Sea   . Moore 167 

Coral-Grove,  The Percrval 178 

Count  Amaldos Lockharfs  Spanish  Ballads,  4 

Cruise  of  the  "  Mystery,"  The Thaxter 537 

Cry  from  the  Shore,  A Hutchinson 247 

"  Culprit  Fay,"  From Drake 518 

D. 

Day  by  the  Sea,  A Sangster no 

Dead  Hand,  The Macdonald 327 

Deep,  The           Brainard 144 

Deep-Sea  Soundings Anonymous 135 

Demon  Lover,  The Old  English  Ballad  ....  26 

Departing  Ship,  A Collier 295 

Diver,  The Schiller 30 

"  Don  Juan,"  From Byron 523 

Dover  Beach Matthew  Arnold 479 

Dream  of  Death,  A Mulock 63 

"Drift,"  From George  Arnold 3*2 

Drifting  Apart "  Howard  Glyndon "...  393 

Drowned Garvie 219 

Drowned  Mariner,  The E.  O.  Smith 148 


INDEX   OF  POEMS.                            6ll 
E. 

PAGE. 

"  Each  and  All,"  From Emerson 352 

Earl  o"  Quarterdeck,  The Macdonald in 

Easter  Morning Dorr 416 

Ebb  and  Flow Curtis 322 

Ebb-Tide Phcebe  Gary 351 

Enchanted  Island,  The     .......     Anonymous 36 

Evening Houghton 238 

F. 

Faces  on  the  Wall Buchanan 444 

Faerie  Queene,"  From  "  The Spenser 533 

Farewell Clough 294 

Fire  by  the  Sea,  The Alice  Gary 138 

First  Sight  of  the  Sea .    Barton 439 

Fisher-Maid,  The Mulock 334 

Fisherman,  The Bowring 333 

Fisherman's  Widow,  The Doudney 385 

Fishermen,  The Whittier 528 

Fishermen  of  Wexford,  The O'Reilly 153 

Fishers  go  down  to  Sea,  The "  Howard  Glyndon "    .    .    .  122 

Fisher's  Wedding,  The E.  O.  Smith 261 

Florida  Beach,  The Woolson 380 

Flying  Dutchman,  The O'Reilly 297 

Forging  of  the  Anchor,  The Ferguson 427 

For  Music Mulock 398 

Forsaken  Merman,  The   .......    Matthew  Arnold 338 

Four  Songs  to  the  Sea Hayden 276 

Funeral  at  Sea Southey    ........  487 

G. 

God  at  Sea Piatt 168 

God  bless  the  Ships A  nonymous 29 

"God  Knows" Farningham 189 

"  God  Knows " Dorr 233 

Grandmother  Tenterden Harte 186 

Greyport  Legend,  A Harte 350 

H. 

"  Handy  Andy,"  From Lover 258 

Hannah  Binding  Shoes Larcom 373 

Haunted  Glen,  The Briggs 542 

Heaving  the  Lead Pearce 90 

Helmsman,  The Collier 125 

Henry  the  Hermit Southey 455 


612  INDEX  OF  POEMS. 


PAGE. 

High  Tide  on  the  Coast  of  Lincolnshire,  The  Ingelow    ........  433 

Hilda,  Spinning  ..........  Dorr  .........  347 

Holy  Light,  The      .........  C.  W.  Scott  .......  55 

Homeward      ...........  Andrews      .......  130 

Hopes  and  Waves    .........  Anonymous,  Translation      .  401 

How's  my  Boy?      .........  Dobell  .........  T6 

Hymn  of  the  Sea,  A    ........  Bryant     ........  Ig4 

Hymn  to  the  Sea     .........  Stoddard     .......  46i 

I. 

Idling    .............  "  Ruth  Emerson  "     ....  534 

If  the  Wind  Rise     .........  O'Connor     .......  453 

Impatience      ...........  "  Owen  Innsly  "    .....  592 

Inchcape  Rock,  The     ........  Southey   ........  37 

In  Harbor      ...........  Hayne      ...     .....  457 

"  In  Memoriam,"  From    .......  Tennyson      .......  170 

In  Swanage  Bay      .........  Mulock     ........  202 

In  the  Sea  ............  Rich     .........  222 

It  is  a  Beauteous  Evening     ......  Wordsworth     ......  343 

Is  my  Lover  on  the  Sea  ?  .......  Procter   ........  355 


Jack  Humphrey's  Oath    .......  E.  O.  Smith     ......  8 

Jetsam  .............  Duffield,  Introductory  Poem,  xi 

Jubilate      ............  George  Arnold     .....  44 

Jumblies,  The     ..........  Lear   .........  84 

K. 

"  King  Richard  III.,"  From     .....  Shakspeare  .......  404 

L. 

Lady  of  Castelnore,  The  .......  Aldrich  ........  353 

Lady  Riberta's  Harvest,  The    .....  Preston    ........  40 

"  Lalla  Rookh,"  From     .......  Moore  .........  263 

Land-Locked  ...........  Duffield  ........  408 

Language  of  the  Sea,  The    ......  Leland     ........  240 

liars'  Song      ...........  Duffield  ........  74 

Last  Buccaneer,  The  ........  Macaulay     .......  201 

Last  of  the  "  Narwhale,"  The  .....  O'Reilly   ........  556 

Leak  in  the  Dike,  The      .......  A  nonymous  .......  49 

Leander  Swimming  .........  Hunt  .........  535 

Left  Ashore     ...........  Spofford  ........  493 

Legend  of  the  Corrievrechan     .....  Macdonald  .......  18 

Life  Drama,"  From  "  A   .......  Alexander  Smith    ....  335 


INDEX   OF  POEMS.                            613 

PAGE. 

Life  on  the  Ocean- Wave,  A Sargent 454 

Lighthouse,  The Longfellow 116 

Listening  to  Music Gilder 98 

Little  Billee Thackeray 99 

Little  Seaman,  The From  the  Swedish    ....  45 

Long  White  Seam,  The Ingelow 271 

Looking-Glass  for  London  and  England," 

From  "A Greene 224 

Lord's  Day  Gale,  The Stedman 466 

"  Love's  World,"  From Suckling 265 

"  Lucile,"  From "  Owen  Meredith  "  .     .     .     .  323 

M. 

Maid  of  Isla,  The Scott 326 

Mariner's  Bride,  The Mangan 239 

Mariner's  Cave,  The Ingelow 362 

Mariner's  Hymn Caroline  Southey      ....  480 

Master  of  Weemys,  The Motherwell 91 

Meeting  at  Night Robert  Browning     ....  162 

Meeting  of  the  Ships,  The Moore 194 

Melusina Reiley 386 

Mermaid,  The Tennyson 406 

Mermaiden,  The "  Owen  Meredith "  .     .     .     .  276 

Merman,  The Tennyson 404 

Might  of  Love,  The Alice  Gary 158 

Missing Anonymous 390 

Morning  and  Evening  by  the  Sea  ....     Fields 443 

Morning  Watch,  The iitgelow 471 

Mountain  and  Sea Leland 262 

Music  in  the  Air Curtis 296 

My  Ship "  Florence  Percy "   .     .     .     .  383 

My  Ship  comes  in Miller 91 

My  Ship Johnson 54 

Mystic  Steersman,  The Tilley 409 

N. 

Nancy  Lee Weatherly 127 

New  Day,  The Gilder 23 

Night-Bird,  The Kingslcy 265 

Night  Song Malloch 129 

No  More  Sea Bonar 140 

o. 

Ocean,  The Montgomery 536 

Ocean,  The     . Robert  Pollok 576 


6 14                             INDEX   OF  POEMS. 

PAGE. 

Ocean,  The Charles  (Tennyson)  Turner,  218 

Ode  to  the  Sea Anonymous,  Translation      .  512 

Oh,  had  we  Some  Bright  Little  Isle  of  our 

Own ! Moore 81 

Old  Commodore,  The Collier 289 

Old  Seaman,  The Ruskin 255 

Olivia Edward  Pollock 235 

On  a  Book  of  Sea-Mosses Fields 376 

On  the  Beach Weeks 442 

On  the  Cliff Johnson 320 

On  the  Sea Keats 214 

On  the  Seashore Mnlock 388 

On  the  Shore Collier 445 

On  the  Shore Weeks 445 

On  the  Strand Duffield 183 

Out  of  Sight  of  Land Bates 82 

Out  to  Sea Stoddard 195 

Over  the  Sea Bennett 280 

P. 

"  Paracelsus,"  From Robert  Browning      ....  71 

Parting  at  Morning Robert  Browning     ....  343 

Pearls Green 400 

Pilot-Boat,  The Allingham 166 

Pimpernel,  The Thaxter 358 

Polly Weatherly 128 

Poor  Jack Dibdin 248 

Prelude  to  "  The  Amber-Whale "  .     .     .     .     O'Reilly 218 

"  Prometheus  Unbound,"  From     ....     Shelley 506 

Q. 

Qua  Cursum  Ventus  [Becalmed  at  Sea]      .     Clongh 98 

Quest,  A Moulton 145 

R. 

Rafe's  Chasm,  Cape  Ann Phelps 452 

Reflection  at  Sea,  A Moore 5°° 

Relic  on  the  Rocks,  The A  nonymous 395 

Remembrance Alice  Turner 217 

Restlessness Allen 45° 

"  Revenge,"  The Tennyson 208 

Revery Thaxter  . 88 

Rime  of  the  Ancient  Mariner,  The     .      .     .     Coleridge -57 

Ring  of  the  Last  Doge,  The HowelU 168 


INDEX  OF  POEMS.                           615 
S. 

PAGE. 

Sabbath  Morning  at  Sea,  A E,  B.  Browning 503 

Sailing  beyond  Seas Ingelow 251 

Sailing  of  the  "  Swallow,"  The      ....     Swinburne 500 

Sailor,  The Allingham 15 

Sailor-Boy,  The Tennyson 562 

Sailor's  Consolation,  The Pitt 185 

Sailor's  Mother,  The Wordsworth 316 

Sailor's  Song Lathrop 123 

Sailor's  Wife,  The Mackay 281 

Sailor's  Wife,  The Mickle 311 

Sandpiper,  The Thaxter 423 

Sands  o'  Dee,  The Kingsley 62 

Saturday  Night  in  the  Harbor Phelps 426 

Sea,"  From  "  The Collier 225 

Sea,  The Boyesen 547 

Sea,  The "  Barry  Cornwall "...  274 

Sea,  The - .     Davis 310 

Sea,  The Pike 280 

Sea,  The Procter 532 

Sea,  The Sandars 175 

Sea,  The Stoddard 269 

Sea,  The Van  Duzee 151 

Sea-Bird's  Song,  The Brainard 241 

Sea-Captain's  Farewell  to  his  Child,  The    .     Dulcken 216 

Sea-Cave,  The Doubleday 443 

Sea-Dream,  A Whittier 564 

Sea-Drift Aldrich 421 

Sea-Fairies,  The Tennyson 411 

Sea,  In  Calm,  The Procter 165 

Sea- Limits,  The D,  G.  Rossetti 361 

Sea-Maid,  The Sterling 250 

Sea-Maiden,  The DeForest 131 

Sea-Mews  in  Winter  Time Ingelow 402 

Sea-Music Cooke 376 

Sea-Serpent,  The          Williams 220 

Sea-Shell,  A Tennyson 424 

Sea-Shell,  The Macdonald 257 

Seashore Emerson 396 

Seaside,  The Charles  ( Tennyson}  Turner,  200 

Sea-Song,  A Alice  Gary 285 

Sea-View,  A Osborne 451 

Shells  on  the  Seashore Sharp 338 

Ships  at  Sea Coffin 446 

Shipwreck,"  From  "  The Falconer 475 

Shipwreck,  The Wilson 574 

Shore,  The "  Owen  Meredith "  .     .     .     .  440 


6i6  INDEX  OF  POEMS. 


PAGE. 

Silhouettes Wilde 387 

Silver  Bridge,  The Allen 448 

Singers  of  the  Sea,  The Pollard 182 

Sirens,  The Lowell 3*3 

Sir  Patrick  Spens Old  Scottish  Ballad     ...  496 

Sitting  on  the  Shore Mithick 399 

Skipper  Ben Larcom 328 

Sleep  at  Sea C.  G.  Rossetti 377 

Song Anonymous 264 

Song Bowring 140 

Song Bradley 259 

Song Clough 444 

Song Curtis 337 

Song Evald 234 

Song Kingsley 48 

Song Moore 398 

Song "  North  American  Review"  422 

Song Weeks 293 

Song Shakspeare 278 

Song  of  Pitcairn's  Island,  A Bryant 419 

Song  of  the  Berserks Taylor 193 

Song  of  the  Galley,  The Lockhart's  Spanish  Ballads,  164 

Song  of  the  Mermaids  and  Mermen  .     .     .  Walter  Scott         414 

Song  of  the  Sea,  A Wacdonald 240 

Song  of  the  Sea,  The Me  Andrew 318 

Song  of  the  Wreck,  The Dickens 206 

Sonnet A  damson 215 

Sonnet Bryant 433 

Sonnet Southey 449 

Sonnets Kimball 118 

Sonnet.  — Sea-Shell  Murmurs Hamilton 360 

Spanish  Gypsy,"  From  "  The "  George  Eliot" 491 

Standing  Toast,  The Dibdin 275 

Stanzas  written  in  Dejection Shelley 392 

Steamboat,  The Holmes 252 

Storm,  The A.A.Procter 279 

Storm-Waves Collier 286 

Story  of  a  Stowaway,  The "  Punch  " 514 

Stowaway,  A Johns 448 

Summer  Day  by  the  Sea,  A  .     .     .     .     •     .  Longfellow 411 

Summer  Longings Anonymous 268 

Summer  Noon  at  Sea,  A Sargent 502 

"Supper  at  the  Mill,"  From Ingelow 4J3 

Surf Stedman 3°7 

Swanage  Bay,  In Mulock 202 

Sweet  William's    Farewell    to  Black-Eyed 

Susan Gay 266 


INDEX   OF  POEMS.                            617 
T. 

PAGE. 

Tacking  Ship  off  Shore Mitchel 24 

Tar  for  all  Weathers,  The Dibdiu 102 

Tear,  A Boiven 400 

Temple,  The Anonymous 184 

Tendimus  in  Latium Dujfield 169 

Though  Lost  to  Sight Linley 242 

Thou  Little  Beach-Bird Dana 243 

"  Three  Bells,"  The Whittier      . 78 

Three  Fishers,  The Kingsley 79 

Tides,  The Bryant 146 

Tides,  The Longfellow 442 

Tide-Rock,  The Kingsley 321 

'Tis  Love's  to  love  the  Sea Bourdillon 401 

To  a  Fossil  Shell "  Ruth  Emerson "     .     .     .     .  181 

To  a  Sea-Bird Harte 77 

To "  Owen  Meredith "  .     .     .     .  102 

To  the  Ocean Hood 592 

To  Sea Beddoes 246 

To  the  Sea Brooks 530 

"  Treasures  of  the  Deep,"  The Hemans  .     , 568 

Triumph  of  Time,"  From  "  The    ....     Swinburne 173 

Tropical  Morning  at  Sea,  A Sill 291 

Twilight  at  Sea Welby 157 

Two  Ships,  The Harte 244 

Tune  on  the  Water,  A Hunt 254 

u. 

Unloved  and  Alone Miller 14 

V. 

Various  Aspects  of  the  Sea    ,....-.     Crabbe 286 

Vineta Dujfield 473 

Vision  of  the  Sea,  A Shelley 506 

Voice  and  the  Peak,  The Tennyson 179 

Voices  of  the  Sea A  nonymous 382 

Voices  of  the  Sea New 153 

Voyage  of  Maeldune,  The Tennyson 548 

w. 

Watch  of  Boon  Island,  The Thaxter 330 

Water  Babies,"  Song  from  "The   ....     Kingsley 476 

Waters  are  Rising  and  Flowing,  The      .     .     Macdonald 244 

Water  Wraith,  The Buchanan 13 

Waves "  The  Dial" 135 

Waves,  The Bayard  Taylor 272 


618                           INDEX   OF  POEMS. 

PAGE. 

Wellen-Geheimness Anonymous,  Translation,     .  563 

Wet  Sheet  and  a  Flowing  Sea,  A  ....     Cunningham. 260 

What  the  Sea  says  to  the  Shore      ....     Phelps 345 

What  the  Shore  says  to  the  Sea     ....     Phelps 344 

White-Capped  Waves Clarke 121 

White  Squall,  The Thackeray 5 

Wild  Weather  Outside Sangster 142 

Wind  and  Sea Bayard  Taylor 80 

Wind  from  the  Sea,  A Bradley 356 

Wind,  Moon,  and  Tides Myers 425 

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With  the  Tide Thaxter 21 

Why  the  Sea  complains Clark 245 

Y. 

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